


Mirror Mirror

by ilovelocust



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Attempted Stockholm Syndrome, Focus Shiro, Happy Ending, Healing After Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor character suicide, Nightmares, Not Season 3 Compliant, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Recovery, Sleep Deprivation, Torture, Trauma, Viewpoint Shiro, shiro whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-12-16 06:32:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 33,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11823177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovelocust/pseuds/ilovelocust
Summary: It's not Keith. He needs to remember. The thing with the sick smiles and lust for pain can't be Keith. For his own sanity, he has to believe that. Keith would never do something like this to him.-Something very bad happened to Shiro and somehow he has to cope.





	1. It's Not Keith

**Author's Note:**

> This story was an experimentation in messing with time as a element of a story. The first half of each chapter is set in the past. The second half of each chapter is set in the present. This story was written before Season 3. This is also a rewrite. I've wanted to complete this story for a long time, but the original chapters were written before I figured out what the hell I was doing, so I'm going back and fixing things.
> 
> Enjoy!

It's not Keith. He needs to remember. The thing with the sick smiles and lust for pain can't be Keith. For his own sanity, he has to believe that. Keith would never do something like this to him. 

Sharp pain tears his thoughts. Muscles seizing, as electricity arcs through his side. Ripping a cry from his throat, before it’s gone. Shiro collapses against the tight ropes binding his chest. Panting, as the aftershocks continue to dance through him.

A rough hand in his hair yanks his head up, beautiful purple irises greeting him. He could see galaxies in them if he only tried hard enough. No, no, these eyes don’t belong to this man. This isn’t Keith. A cruel smirk stretches across the imposter’s lips. More proof it’s not him, he’d never look at Shiro this way, “You were drifting,” Not-Keith says, running the cold tip of the electric prod across his cheek. What, what would that even do to him? A shock so close to his brain. Would he bite off his own tongue, or just wish he did? “Tell me, what were you thinking?” The voice is lilting, mocking, nothing like Keith’s.

The tip of the prod caresses his jaw before slipping under his chin. Hard point jabbing against the soft flesh, forcing his head further back. He can’t hide the fear the touch invokes. Can’t hide the way his breath hitches. How he has to swallow before he can speak. He’s highlighting his weaknesses, telling his torturer exactly where to push, “Who are you?” Shiro’s voice is rough, but at least it’s still steady. Not one of surrender just yet.

The thing blinks at him, then chokes on a giggle before full on laughing. The prod falls away and there are hands cupping his face. Keith is smiling at him, that happy twitching lips as he tries to stifle the last of his chuckles smile. He always gets it when Shiro tells a bad pun and he’s pretending he’s not hopelessly charmed by Shiro’s dorkiness. Shiro’s sick to his stomach to see that look on the doppleganger’s face, “You already know who I am.” Not-Keith says meaningfully, but Shiro doesn’t. He knows who he isn’t, but who would want to do this is a mystery.

His torturer frowns, resting his forehead against Shiro’s. Another’s softness overtaking his expression, “You know me, Takashi,” He whispers, barely a breath, a secret just between the two of them…it’s the same…Same as the sleepy murmurs from a partner not quiet ready to leave the warmth of their bed. Same as the soft teasing, tempting him to risk everything in deserted corridors. Same as the quiet declarations of love, said over and over until they were etched into the very fabric of his being. Someone has waltzed into his deepest most private memories and torn them out to be used in a twisted display for their own sick devices.

Shiro’s lungs want to stop breathing, his head wants to scream, but he forces himself to stop at a clenched fists. That name in the fake’s mouth hurts him more than he can ever let them know. If they understand what they are doing to him, they’ll destroy his memory. Hurt him again and again, until Keith’s softness and pain are so intertwined he’ll never separate them. After all he’s lost, he can’t lose this last little bit of comfort and safety too.

His torturer leans back. Smirking, knowing, Shiro’s already shown too much, “What do you want?” Shiro says too quickly. Half honest plea, half desperate attempt to gain some control of the situation. Redirect things away from his too obvious weakness.

Not-Keith looks down on him. Imitations of warmth draining away as he calculates, letting Shiro stew in his helplessness while he plans his next move. His torturer unfolds his arms, slowly runs the prod over his clothed shoulder. He doesn’t watch. No point, his eyes won’t stop the electricity from spiking through his system, and he need not confirm how much this scares him. Even when the prod traces down to the seam where the flesh of his right arm meets metal. That place has always been sensitive. The druids could keep his body from rotting away at the unnatural connection, but they didn’t bother to make it painless. Electrical abuse would be agony.

“Don’t worry about that,” Not-Keith says, tapping the prod less Shiro get distracted from his impending torment, “When it comes time, you will give it to me willingly,” Electricity sears through him.

—

"Shiro! Shiro! No, please no," Keith's voice is panicked. Hands surprisingly gentle on his abused body. He must be worried he'd broken his favorite toy again. Shiro’d laugh, but he'd hurt himself more than he’d annoy his captor.

"Lance, get the healing pod ready! Hunk, help me move him!" Hunk? Lance? Why is Keith giving them orders? They aren't here. No one is here, yet the Blue and Yellow paladin’s answers are unmistakable. Darkness is comforting, promising safety if he only lets it drag him under once again, but confusion lures his eyes open. High arching ceilings, pale grey walls, and undertones of light blue. He blinks, but the mirage doesn't evaporate. Shiro is in the Castle of the Lions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the first six chapters rewritten already, so I'll be posting them at a accelerated rate.


	2. No ones there

Shiro screams himself raw. Jerking and spasming like a demented puppet for the monster wearing Keith’s face. Hours pass, the ropes dig bloody spots into his flesh, and his torturer watches on without empathy. 

The prod deactivates. Shiro slumps into his ropes. Their abrasive surface digging into his injured flesh. The pain is nothing. Not when tremors wrack his body with remember shocks, and no amount of quickly drawn breath feels enough. He’s going to die like this. Crying out at the end of the prod without ever knowing who’s taken him or why.

A cruel hand wraps around his face, digging sharp nails into his cheek as it shoves his head back. He’s not struggling. He hasn’t since waking in this place. Defiance for the sake of defiance is something he left behind during his first captivity. He learned to save his strength for the fights that matter, but that’s not what this is about. This act is just more hurting him for the sake of hurting him. Like everything else his captors have done to him.

“You look tired,” An observation, the sky is blue, Galra are purple, my extended torture of you has made you exhausted. He doesn’t share his gallow’s humor. The riff tracks to his torment may keep him sane, but mocking his torturer is not conducive to his long term health, “Why don’t we stop for the night, start again in the morning.” The words may be kind, but the tone is taunting. Soft lips press a kiss to his temple in a parody of a loving gesture. He should try to understand the purpose behind the faked concern, but determining motivation takes more energy than he has left, “Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning,” The fake laughs at his own words, like his privy to a joke Shiro didn’t hear. Maybe after some sleep, he’ll realize what he’s missed, but for he can barely keep his head up long enough to watch Not-Keith walk out.

The cell door seals tight behind him, and with it the already dim lighting turns off. Pitching him into complete darkness…he’s alone…he can’t see…there is nothing in here with him…he’s fought creatures that don’t need light to locate him…There is Nothing in here with him.

Is that a breeze? Just the slightest whiff, like someone barely passed the hairs on his arm. His arm is inactive, has been the entire time. He can’t get free. Can’t defend himself. Stop It! There is NOTHING in here with him.

Ignore the sound. There wasn’t a sound. It’s just a dark room. He’s faced so much worse. What would Keith think, broken by something so normal. He’d be embarrassed for him…No he wouldn’t, he’d understand. Shiro would be embarrassed, but Keith would search the Castle for a night light. Offer to stay up and watch over him so he could rest……

Screeching assaults his ears. Something is coming to kill him. The light is blinding. It hurts and he can’t see, but he’s exposed, in the open, and they can see him. He struggles against his bonds. Doesn’t even notice as the ropes tear into him again. He needs to get free, find a defensible position. Where is it? The cell is empty, where is the screeching thing hiding? There’s nothing there. Four walls and his chair. He alone..He’s completely alone.

His heart is thudding painfully in his chest. He’s alone. Breathe. There is nothing in here with him. He can calm down.

The lights go out.

—

He's in the Castle of the Lions. Not in his cell, not, not in the other places. He’s back home. He should feel something more at that.

Coran is buzzing around him, frowning and smiling in turn as his scanner beeps results for some test or other. Shiro doesn’t really care enough to ask what. The world is wrong, tilted on its axis while everyone still walks upright.

The healing pod had been delayed, after they realized he could stand on his own. Keith had stayed close to him anyways, like a second skin he couldn’t scratch off. He doesn’t remember when everyone but Coran had left. Had he asked for space? Everything is so hard to parse. Overly sharp and fuzzy at the same time.

Coran’s standing in front of him, looking at him expectantly. Oh, he’d asked if Shiro was ready for the healing pod. He guesses so. Maybe it will stitch something back together and make things make sense again.


	3. Freezing

He’s cold, so cold. The air carries a chill that covers his flesh in goosebumps and seeps icy tendrils into his very bones. He can’t see his breath, but a few more cycles of shrieking light and frigid dark will change that. The light is better, easier to to stay awake with the lights on. Easier to keep his drooping eyes from summoning more screeching and dropping temperatures.  
.  
.  
.  
Exhaustion weighs him down. Eyes drooping and head lolling against his will. How long has it been? His captor said he’d be back in the morning, but surely he’s been alone for longer than a mere night. Maybe not, maybe his tired mind is playing tricks on him, stretching measly minutes to unending hours, or maybe, this is how he is to be executed. Kept aching and awake, until no amount of willpower can stop sleep’s grasp, and the freezing cold can take his unconscious form’s life.  
.  
.  
.  
One of the walls is throbbing, pulsing with color in time to his heartbeat. Is it the sleep deprivation or has his captor grown bored and thought up some new way to torment him? His thoughts are underwater, sluggish and pulled off to sea by the tide. Only the aching under current of hunger persists through the waves. His throat is dry. He’s going to die like this, slowly from dehydration. His captor doesn’t care, isn’t listening. His yelled pleas that humans can’t survive this treatment have fallen on the deaf ears of an empty room. Unending silence his only answer.  
.  
.  
.  
Hot air sweeps past him. His skin screams in protest, as if he’s stepped too close to a furnace, but he doesn’t care. Can’t care. Anything is better than the eternal draining cold.

Keith is smiling at him from the open door of his cell, an angel surrounded by soft light. He must be the source of the wonderful heat, rescuing him from his slow death. Keith walks towards him. Cupping his face in warm hands. A soothing thumb strokes his cheekbone, and Shiro presses into the comfort, “Sleep well, pet?” Keith asks, voice and expression soft, like he cares.

The tone comes through, but the words don’t process. “Keith,” Shiro sighs in happiness, relaxing against the gentle touch. The laughter makes him flinch. Not-Keith, how could he forget this is not Keith. How could he forget who put him here. His captor ruffles his hair, then makes room for a cart to be pushed between them.

There is food on the cart. Small cuts of meat and, blessedly, a cup of water. Shiro’s stomach growls, redoubles it’s aching cry for food, “I thought you might want some breakfast before we get started today,” His captors smirk is knowing as he explains. ‘Get started’ that means more torture, but he’ll get food and water first. Putting off death in exchange for pain, a fairer trade than many.

His forgotten binds bite into his raw wrists when he reaches for the food. He stares stupidly at the ropes tying him down for moment, “My hands…” Shiro starts, but his brain fails to materialize more words. Keith’s patronizing smile is like churning acid in his stomach.

“Don’t worry, Takashi,” The pang at his exposed memories is less this time, other pains overwhelming it, “I’ll feed you,” Not-Keith picks up the glass from the tray, and presses the cup to his lips. Shiro gulps the water down greedily. Slaking his thirst, as fingers card through his hair, stroking him, like he’s some sort of cat. Food comes next. Each bite patiently lifted to his mouth. Crumbs wiped away after. Something soft, maybe even wistful, overtakes his captor’s eyes while he feeds him. It’s unnerving, wrong, in a way he can’t quiet name. 

“Missed this,” The words are quiet, possibly a trick of his ears. He almost stops chewing, but he knows what it is like to slowly starve. He’s so close to that point already. His captor’s mind games aren’t worth jeopardizing a meal.

The food runs out too soon, the cart disappearing from whence it came. The softness in Not-Keith’s expression flee with the meal. Hard eyes appraise Shiro once more. His captor picks up his favorite prod, “Ready, pet?”

-

A hiss and Shiro is stumbling out into the cool air of the med lab. A shiver shaking his limbs. Physically, he feels better. Mentally…mentally the removal of the fog of shock only reveals how much is still broken.

He needs rest, real rest. The pod fixed his body, but it doesn’t replicate a full nights sleep. Coran is here again, but a tired “Bed” is all it take to get him to let Shiro go. 

Nothing has changed. Every door he passes, every corridor he walks down is exactly how he remembers them. No new battle damage, no sign that any time has passed at all since he was taken. He should feel like he’s in a dream, walking freely down these halls once more should feel like something more, but reality crowds him, reminds him of the truth. He was in hell, now he’s here. History is repeating itself once again. Soon he’ll be expected to fight a war on behalf of the universe once again, but that can be put off until tomorrow. For now, he can finally sleep.

The door to his room slides open, and Shiro draws up short. Keith is here. Sitting on his bed. Waiting for him.

Keith’s face lights up, “Shiro!” Keith practically shouts, jumping up and stepping towards him in unrestrained joy. He’s going to try and touch him. Shiro stumbles back. Preserving the space between them as his heart rate picks up. Keith falters in his advance, “Shiro?” His voice dipping in concern.

He can’t answer the implied question, not right now, “I’m going to bed,” He says instead. He hasn’t sorted out the difference between what he knows and what he feels yet. He isn’t ready to have this conversation, not with Keith. 

Keith doesn’t move. Right, this isn’t just his room. Before he was…before, the Red Paladin spent most his nights in this bed. He can’t, he can’t handle that sort of closeness right now, “Alone,” Shiro adds.

There is a flash of hurt across Keith’s face, but he doesn’t say anything beyond a soft “Oh.” Shiro steps aside, provides an exit that won’t lead to them touching. Keith ducks his head and scuttles out of Shiro’s room.

Keith looks back, opens his mouth to say something more. Shiro shuts the door, engages the lock, securing the barrier between him and Keith. He’s alone.

The bed swallows his consciousness whole.


	4. Do They Know?

Time blurs. There’s no rhythm to his torture. Nothing to set his internal clock by. His meals are interspersed at random. Sometimes so close, he’s still stuffed full from the last. Sometimes so far apart it feels like his stomach is consuming itself for sustenance. The hours till morning are never the same, and ‘Goodnight’ could equally mean enforced wakefulness or fit-full sleep in anticpatory darkness.

He’s forced to count the forward progression of time through new pains and indignities. This was the point that his captor grew tired of his filth, and instead of untying him to bathe, cut his clothes off and doused him in ice water. That was the point he broke two of his finger. There was the point he hooked something up to Shiro’s deactivated arm, setting all the pain receptors alight, and was disappointed at how quickly he fainted.

On and on it goes, the only odd comfort coming when he’s fed. Not-Keith still feeds him by hand, petting and stroking his skin and hair like a favored pet. He should stay strong, resist giving anything of himself away, but the call of the soft touches is lulling. Offering just a bit of rest between the pain. He’s cracking. The longer this goes on, the more hair fine gaps develop in his sense of self. He has to welcome some comfort, no matter the source, or he’s going to shatter into a thousand pieces. Perhaps that is what his captor is after. Breaking him until there is no him left to break. His chosen guise would be apt for that goal. Who’s appearance better to steal to break the Black Paladin than his right arm?

Nothing truly changes until it does. Not-Keith is tracing the shaking muscles of his abs with his prod. That tool, out of all the implements of pain in his arsenal, seems to be his favorite. He’s been moving to progressively more sensitive flesh, applying shocks with abandon, wringing screams from Shiro’s throat he thought himself beyond the capability of making. Held close until his very flesh burns under the prod’s point. The shock stops, but spots continue to do his vision. His breath shaking in his chest. He needs, he needs a second, but his captor doesn’t wait. Metal on flesh, then pain, then nothing.

.

He’s not in his chair. He’s lying on something flat and cold, unrestrained? There is a rustling clink off to his side, like someone is rummaging in a overstuffed bag, “Your slave’s wounds require proper medical attention my Prince,” The voice is unfamiliar, but the sound of speaking around fangs is not. Galra. He keeps still, hides his consciousness. Fingers prod the long cut from where his shirt had been sliced off, then his hand is picked up. Raw skin aggravated by touch before being set back down, “The wrist in particular requires care, if you don’t wish it to get infected.” A pause, “Unless you want to replace this arm as well?” Shiro inhales sharply, eyes flying open. They can’t take his remaining arm. He won’t let them.

He pushes up and is slammed back down by an iron grip on his throat. A sharp knee pins his flesh wrist to the ground. Purple eyes glare down at him in annoyance, “Calm yourself, Takashi,” It’s an order, said in a tone that expects to be obeyed, “I like you the way you are.” He doesn’t believe him, but Not-Keith holds him easily. Shiro’s unbound and still defenseless. Shiro goes limp and unresisting. His captor seems satisfied he won’t try to move again. He lets go of Shiro’s throat, but pointedly does not remove his knee from Shiro’s tender wrist. Not-Keith turns his attention to the other resident of the room. A Galra in the empires medical uniform is kneeling beside Shiro. He doesn’t recognize him from his time in the arena, and likely won’t remember his face in a day’s time. “He is not staying in the medical wing,” Keith says. No questions or hesitation, a superior telling a inferior how things will be.

“That will not be an issue,” The Galra replies with an acknowledging bow of his head, “I can treat him, take samples, then release him immediately. As long as his bandages are changed, his health will not deteriorate unduly.”

Keith seems satisfied with that answer. He makes a noise of affirmation, then looks down at Shiro, “Behave.” The ‘or else’ doesn’t need to be said. Keith stands, finally relieving the pressure on his wrist. Shiro stays put. The Galra rarely appreciate a prisoner moving without permission. “Follow me,” He orders. Shiro scrambles to his feet on shaky legs. His right arm is still deactivated, and he nearly falls back to the floor when his muscles scream at the sudden movement. He manages, though. Swaying he stands for inspection. Keith glances him over and seems to decide he won’t keel over. He nods approvingly, before turning on his heels and leaving the room. Shiro obediently follows him out.

-

Shiro tired when he wakes. He’ll require more than one peaceful night sleep to make up for all the ones he lost. He sighs, rolling out of bed. He’s disgusting. The healing pods are not cleaning agents. They leave their own residue on the skin. A hot uninterrupted shower sounds about as close to heaven right now as his own bed did last night.

His drawers have very little clothing to pick from, but unlike the pants he wears now, every article is something he selected for himself. Had the others noticed that? He’d disappeared in paladin armor, and come back shirtless, with new scars marring his flesh. A story written in healing pink for all to see. Did they know what happened to him? Did they read the marks across his skin? Did they know what he did to survive? He’s sick to his stomach. Empty acid want to crawl out his throat and spill to the floor. They can’t know. There wasn’t enough evidence for them to have assumed. They weren’t there. They didn’t know. Except Keith, he’d been there. He knew. No, no, no! This Keith hadn’t been there. This Keith talked to the other paladin. He lived in the Castle of the Lions. He wasn’t the same Keith that hurt him. Keith was to blunt in his tortures to go through the mind games of staging a rescue. They were different people. He needed to believe that.

Their is a knock on his door, Shiro jumps. Heart leaping into his throat. Calm, there is no danger. Someone just wants to speak with him. He puts on the closest shirt and heads to the door.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Keith is standing nervously on the other side. He’s wrong. Keith is always in control, sometimes angry but never nervous. No, that was the Keith who cause pain, the one from before. This Keith, the one standing in front of him, is not the same one. He shows weakness, some he’s held close since the Garrison.

He should say something, but no response comes to him. He stares, dumbfounded, until Keith breaks the silence, “Hunk just finished breakfast.” Keith says quietly, “Do you want to come down to the Kitchen?” There is unmistakable hope in that question. That somehow Shiro will start acting like the man his team knew.

He can’t do that, not yet, “I’m not hungry,” Shiro lies. He is hungry. His last meal is lost to the fog of torture, but it hasn’t been long enough for him to be starved, for him to ache. He can go without for a bit. Needs to go without. He isn’t fit for human company right now. His head packed full of contradicting emotions and facts. He needs to stay removed until the slightest critical view won’t see through him and his facade. This is his burden to carry, not share.

Keith hesitates, his disbelief obvious in the way he looks so closely. He tries not to see it as examining him for weakness, “Okay,” Keith says finally, “I’ll make sure, we leave some food for you. I case you get hungry later.” 

No point, he won’t be out today, but Shiro nods anyways before reaching for the button to close the door. “Shiro, wait,” Keith says eyes still bright with concern, “I get you need some space, but you’ll tell me if you something, right?” There is a right way to handle this. A comforting yes, and Keith will go on his way, confident that he’d done what he can to help. Shiro shuts the door instead.


	5. Rest

There are two guards outside the cell. They snap to attention as his captor passes them. Fall into step behind Shiro when he follows Keith out. Now that he can see more than the four walls of the cell, the ship is obviously Galra. Dark metal halls highlighted with glowing purple, the common sentry marching by along with the rarer Galra soldier. He’s had screaming nightmares that start like this, some have even included him be just as naked as he is. Not that anyone seems to care about his nudity. Those they pass are too busy standing a bit straighter or patrolling a little more precisely to pay attention to him.

The doctor had called Keith “My Prince”. The title made sense in how the other Galra were behaving in his presence, but that also meant they recognized him on sight. Keith’s appearance couldn’t just be some weird illusion meant to fuck with his head, if the guards didn’t even gawk. For them to respond this way this must be what he actually looked like…Keith was a Galra prince.

Had he been critically injured in that last fight and was now trapped in a dying dream? He remembered fighting Zarkon, that final attack to rid the universe of him forever. Awakening Black’s true power, charging, then nothing. Then he’d woken up surrounded by lights and yelling voices, some sort of lab. He’d been dragged to the cell before gaining his bearings. This felt to real to be a dream, though. To sharp in places to be images conjured up from his mind.

Maybe Keith ignored his request to become the Black Paladin? Somehow becoming a part of the Empire. A quest to resurrect Shiro using their resources? No, no, that made no more sense than a Prince walking around with Keith’s face enough to be recognized. What was the point of going through all that trouble to resurrect him, only to do this? Keith loved him. He wouldn’t hurt Shiro. Not like this. No matter how much time had passed.

The stench of chemically enforced cleanliness hits him before they enter the final hall. This ship’s medical wing is the same as the one at the arena. Heavy duty restraint on the examination tables. Guards posted at the doors in case ‘patients’ attempt to escape. Sharp vicious machines that make a mockery of the name medical equipment. A place to sew prisoners back together or tear them apart, on the whims of the personnel. At least he can’t hear any screams. Either this ship doesn’t have any other prisoners aboard or they are in the middle of a night cycle. He’s grateful for either option.

A guard jabs him in the back, not appreciating his hesitance to enter the place of horrors. Shiro meekly crosses the threshold. The doctor from the cell walks up to a table that looks like every other, “Sit,” He orders. The metal of the table is cold, feeling too familiar from every other time he was on one of these. Still he sits. They’ll force him if he doesn’t. Click the restraints around his limbs and do as they please anyways. Don’t think about those times. He can’t panic here. Not now. This prince, this Keith, he can’t tell how he’d react, but the guards, he’d be lucky if they only tied him down until he hyperventilated himself into unconsciousness.

The doctor begins treatment. He isn’t gentle. Shiro’s wounds are brusquely cleaned and wrapped, his broken fingers set, and blood samples are taken. No care is shown for if the handling causes him pain, but the Galra is at least professional in speed and efficiency. Pain is the side effect, not the point. What does it say about him that he feels genuinely grateful for the lack of sadism?

Keith watches the proceeding with increasing impatience. He looks like he used to when he was forced to wait for his turn in the simulator. Annoyed and tapping his foot, as if the other cadet’s slow progress was a personal affront to him. Patience had never been his virtue, even if he had been trying as of late. There is a sharp tug against one of his bandages, and the doctor is turning away from Shiro to address Keith, “Done my lord,” He says, “If your plans permit, I recommend rest to promote healing. Otherwise keep his wounds clean, and he should heal given time. Bring him back if any of the wounds continue to be inflamed or he runs a fever.”

Keith waves dismissively, and the doctor bows before scurrying out of sight. Keith’s attention turns to Shiro. Keith approaches and he tenses, preparing for a fight. He won’t go back in the cell willingly. The guards will have to drag him. He only obeyed because the treatment was a reprieve from the pain. If Keith thinks his cooperation will extend to sitting back down in that chair, he’s deluding himself.

Keith doesn’t seem to notice or care what Shiro is thinking. The guards watch him warily, but Keith enters Shiro’s space like he’s no threat at all. Simply grabbing his chin to pull him down to his level, “Would you like that, pet? Some sleep?” Keith asks, “If you continue to be a good boy, I can arrange it.” Sleep? Is he serious? Is he actually taking the doctor’s advice, after so long of not caring about Shiro’s well being? This must be more false hope. A promised ‘Goodnight’ before the screeching kept him awake? Yet what if it isn’t? Keith must get all the response he needs from Shiro’s expression. After a second, he’s lets go of Shiro’s chin with a smirk, “Follow me.” He orders. The guards step in to make sure Shiro obeys.

Whatever Keith’s game, it’s different than the ones before. They leave the medical wing in the opposite direction of the way they approached. The halls are winding, but he’s not being led back to his cell. Keith stops in front of a door, opening straight into a single bedroom. It’s not fancy enough to be a prince’s quarters or even a high ranking officer, but it is far to nice to the sort of room you keep a prisoner. Even when he was at the height of gladiatorial popularity, the most he was ever given was a private cell with his own cot. Nothing like the luxurious bed that is the centerpiece of this room. The mattress is large even by Galra standards, enough space to fit ten of him with room to spare.

The guards take position outside the door, as Keith walks inside, kicking off his shoes and sitting back against the headboard. He looks to Shiro expectantly. Sighing, when he doesn’t move, “Lay down, Takashi,” Keith says, patting the spot beside him. Why? Why there? Why now? He hasn’t been given new clothes to replace the ones he’s lost. Crawling into bed with his captor while naked is-there are implications he’d rather not think about, but the cell, it’s still there, still waiting for him. He has to do something.

Shiro climbs in to the other side of the bed, as far as possible from the other occupant. It’s technical obedience maybe that will be enough. Keith dispels that though with a glare, “If you want to rest, you will come here,” Keith warns, displeasure coloring his voice. He doesn’t have a real choice, torture or obedience. Shiro scoots closer, maintain a little space between them. Keith tires of his hesitance and grabs his shoulder, yanking him down. His arm is still deactivated, he’s exhausted and injured, and Keith is strong. Anyone would have gone sprawling given those conditions. Shiro squawks in surprise as he topples, and Keith lets out an amused huff of laughter at his loss of coordination. He shoves Shiro around until only his head lays in his lap, “There, no you may sleep,” Keith says with a grin. He pats Shiro’s head before reaching for a tablet on the night stand.

Shiro waits, but Keith only turns the thing on and begins to read, seemingly satisfied with their current position. Is this all he wanted? To lay Shiro down like some sort of pet. He’s not okay with this. How could he be happy with the idea of sleeping with his head pillowed on the leg of the man who spent the last however long seeing how loud he could make him scream? He should do something, but his body disagrees. Whatever energy he’d marshaled to walk to and from the medical wing is dissipating the longer he lays still. His eyelids weigh a thousand pounds, fluttering closed every time he tries to keep them open. The sleep that pulls Shiro under is far from peaceful.

-

Being clean makes him feel more human, but not enough to leave the room. He should go see the others. Even if only long enough to grab the promised leftovers. The longer he hides in here the more worried they’ll be, but he just can’t. Outside these four walls is too much too soon. Responsibility lies out there. The Black Paladin mantle looming large suffocating Shiro in its shadow. One day, one day won’t cause them to worry too much more. He can have one day.

So he stays, drifts under his blankets. He has water, heat, he doesn’t need to leave. Dinner time rolls around, and there is another knock at his door. Keith is waiting on the other side once again, of course he is. He’d never leave him alone for long. Shiro almost shuts the door as soon as he open its, but Keith shoves his foot in, blocking it open, before he can.

“Shiro, wait!,” Keith says. Panic skitters through him. Stop, he needs to be calm. Keith is not here to hurt him. He knows that. He’s sorted his head enough to know they are different for certain.

“Get out of my door,” Shiro keeps his voice purposefully even, but something must show through, because Keith looks taken aback.

“O-okay, I’ll go,” Keith starts, “but take this.” Shiro hadn’t noticed Keith was carrying something, but now he’s getting a bowl pressed into his hands, “You don’t need to come out, or talk to anyone, just eat, please,” Keith says in a rush. When Shiro wraps his hands around the bowl, Keith removes his foot from the door and steps back, “Alright, I’m leaving. I’ll leave some more food for breakfast. You don’t need to answer the door. Just get it at some point, okay?” When Shiro doesn’t respond, Keith nods to himself and turns to walk down the hall. He’s completed his mission.

“Keith,” Shiro calls at his retreating back. Keith turns around, hope unmistakable in his eyes, “Thank you.” Shiro says, makes his words sound like he means them. Keith deserves that, because Shiro is grateful. Very grateful, for not being forced to leave. He needed someone to care about his wishes.

Keith smiles like Shiro has given him the world, “You’re welcome,” He says, “Be back tomorrow morning!” He waves, before continuing down the hall.

Shiro isn’t ready to come out yet, but maybe tomorrow, he’ll answer the door.


	6. Goatee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sexual Assault

A brush of fingertips wandering down his chest. Softly tracing the bare edge of a bruise. Shiro snorts into his pillow, no not a pillow, clothing? Keith. He snorts into his Keith. It’s too early. He’s too tired for this sort of fun. He curls up closer to the other warm body, trying to fall back to sleep.

“Takashi, wake up I’m bored,” Keith whines, poking him in the stomach. Nyhhh, words are too much effort right now, Shiro shakes his head and grumbles. Keith huffs at him. Ah, cute little annoyed kitten Keith. Shiro smiles.

Keith moves out from under him. Dropping his head to the mattress. He mourns the loss of his bed partner, but not enough to open his eyes and chase after him. “You’re lucky I like you,” Keith’s fond voice drifts from above. The bed dip beside him, “I wouldn’t put up with this behavior from anyone else.”

Keith shoves his shoulder and Shiro rolls over on his back. Demanding this morning. Not that he can complain to much, because Keith’s warm body is crawling on top of his and Keith’s soft lips are pressing against his own. He opens up for the languid kiss. Letting Keith’s greedy tongue explore. He lifts his flesh hand, running across his lover until he can rest it on Keith’s sharp hip, squeezing encouragingly. Maybe he’s up to a round of fun after all.

Shiro smiles as Keith pulls back, letting his eyes flutter open. Keith is beautiful above him, naughty smirk on perfect lips. Dark hair framing an angelic face…The ceiling is dark metal…This isn’t their bedroom. No! This isn’t his Keith. Shiro shoves his captor off. Keith falls sprawling to floor, looking up at him in shock, “How could you?” Shiro is bordering on a shout, shoving himself up to face the man that would take advantage. He’s not tired anymore, “What is wrong with you!”

Keith’s shock morphs to anger, “How dare you!” Keith snarls and lunges at him. Shiro is still one arm down, but Keith is smaller than himself and he’s not flat on his back this time. Keith jabs him hard in one of his bandaged wounds, but he has experience fighting through pain. He throws his captor off the bed. Keith tumbles, coming up on his feet to face Shiro, teeth bared in rage.

“Guards!” Keith yells. The door whooshes open, the guards from before charge in, guns raised. Shiro scrambles off the bed, preparing to meet the new threat. He forgets about Keith. His mistake. Something hard collides with his skull. Shiro crashes to his knees. Keith watches, holding a table lamp, as the guards finish the job. Cracking Shiro’s skull against the floor and wrenching his arm painfully behind his back.

“Take him back to his cell,” Keith orders. The guards haul him off the ground. He’s not given a chance to comply. Rough hands grab his hair and twist his arm until it threatens to come out of socket, “You don’t get to reject me.” Keith sneers, as Shiro is dragged from the room.

.

Keith doesn’t forgive easily. He makes Shiro pay for his rejection with strips of his hide, quite literally at times. He loses half his finger nails in the first ‘day’ of Keith’s wrath. Becomes intimately familiar with the smell of his own burning flesh in the second. The fleeting kindness of his meals is gone. A sentry bot feeds him now, and if he doesn’t eat fast enough, well then he doesn’t need all that food after all. The flames of Keith’s anger aren’t even abating with Shiro’s screams. The longer he’s held here, the more they build. His torture quickly leaving the realms of scarring and painful to potentially crippling.

Keith’s burned most the hair from his leg. His lighter teasing along the side just close enough to bubble in spots before pulling away. Shiro’s crying, he doesn’t know for how long. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. A hand wraps around his calf, fingers digging into a weeping sore. Shiro’s yowl is more of croak coming from his abraded throat. His foot is being lift, fires tendrils held under the pad of his foot. No, god no, “Please,” Shiro sobs. He can’t, he can’t lose his ability to walk too, “Please, don’t,” Some vague line of body autonomy with worth being crippled for the rest of his life. His pride isn’t worth this, “I’ll do anything. Just please don’t,” Keith can fuck him for all he cares. He just needs this to stop.

His captor cocks his head to the side looking up at Shiro, but keeping the flame where it is. Close enough that the heat builds and his sole is beginning to burn. He can’t pull away, can’t save himself, “Have you learned your lesson?” Keith asks.

“Yes,” Shiro nods desperately, “Please, I’m sorry.” He’d say anything his captor wants to hear if it will get him to stop.

Keith smiles and turns off the lighter. Climbs up into Shiro’s lap, running his fingers down the burns and cuts littering his torso. He leans in capturing his lips as he dig a nail into one of Shiro’s many open wounds. It hurts, but Shiro kisses him back.

-

Two more day, two more days of Keith’s meal deliveries being his only contact with the rest of the castle, before his mind finally settles enough that he can venture from his room. He doesn’t go to his team immediately. Ask the Castle where the other residents are and then avoids them. Giving himself time to re-familiarize himself with the normal places, kitchen, training room, bridge. All he is allowed to enter and leave as he pleases. No guards, no watching eyes. He’s home, safe, and ready.

Everyone is gathered in the common room, including Slav? When did he become a regular resident of the Castle? Lance spots Shiro hovering in the door, “Shiro!” He shouts, scrambling over the couch to wrap his arms around his leader in a hug. The whole room holds their breath, anticipation for a bad reaction. Had Keith told them about his current bout of anti-social behavior? Shiro embraces Lance back, and the tension evaporates as the everyone explodes in excitement. Pidge and Hunk run forward to join the hug, then Keith, and even Coran and Allura join in. Squeezing all the paladins half to death in their eagerness.

“It’s good to have you back man!” Hunk laughs.

“It’s good to be back,” Shiro responds, and he doesn’t have to force the smile. He missed them all terribly.

“You had us worried with that disappearing act,” Pidge says from where she’s squished between Keith and Allura. He can imagine. The team wouldn’t have taken well to their leader simply vanishing after the battle of the century, “Still don’t know how you pulled off dimensional travel.” She adds.

That stops him, “Dimensional travel?” Shiro says stupidly. What?

“You didn’t know?” Pidge says. Everyone seems to sense this might be the sort of conversation you don’t have while pinning someone, and the group lets go, giving him a bit of space.

Lance looks put out though, “Damn, guess that means you didn’t go to the evil goatee universe then,” Lance says. When Shiro continues giving his dumb look, Lance clarifies, “Like on Star Trek you know. Evil mirror universe, everyone has goatees to show how evil they are?”

“Only Spock had a goatee in that episode,” Hunk says. Lance scowls at his correction.

“Doesn’t matter, I had a bet with Pidge riding on that. Now I’m stuck with her shift for Slav’s assistant.” Lance moans, then switches his attention back to Shiro, “So if not evil goatee universe, where did you go? Was it a universe where everyone was a hot amazon. I bet it was a universe where everyone was a hot amazon.” His mood makes a 360 as he quite obviously starts daydreaming about a universe filled with beautiful women.

Shiro leaves him to dream, and addresses Pidge instead, “You don’t know where I went?” He asks. How could they rescue him and not know where he’d been?

Keith is the one to answer, “Slav tracked your signature down, but it was just numbers on a screen. We couldn’t see what was there…We weren’t even sure you were alive.” Keith’s first words since he entered the room. Tone saying too much, Keith had been spending sleepless nights thinking him dead. He should be giving comfort, he’s alive after all, but.

“Oh,” An alternate universe, “That makes sense.” Then Keith, wasn’t Keith after all, but was Keith too.

There’s a hand touching his arm. He looks at it a second before he realizes it’s attached to the Red Paladin. He doesn’t shrug him off, “Are you okay?” Keith asks. No longer preoccupied with his own remembered pain, when he has Shiro to be concerned for.

“I’m fine.” He says. Are the words even a lie? He doesn’t know, “I think, I’m going to go look around the Castle a bit. See what you all have been up to while I was gone.” Get enough space to process without everyone examing his every expression. Keith doesn’t look convinced but lets him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very graphic story. Some very bad things are going to be described in detail. I’m not going to change that. I feel this fits the story. There will be warning in front of the chapters with this sort of thing, though.


	7. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Rape/Non-con

Keith yanks at Shiro’s hair. Telling him to take his cock deeper into his throat, or a reward for a good job, or maybe he’s just enjoying hurting Shiro again. Shiro swallows around Keith, and his captor moans. His own traitorously hard dick twitches at the sound. Drugged and conditioned until he reacts like a trained dog. Keith’s pleasure is his own, no matter his wants.

The pad of Keith’s foot rubs against his crotch, and Shiro chokes, as sparks of pleasure go off behind his eyes. Why? Couldn’t he just be ignored this once. Allowed to do what was ordered without being touched back, “Enjo-ah-joying yourself pet?” Keith asks, rubbing harder against Shiro’s dick. He groans around Keith’s cock, even as his face flushes with shame. He can’t hold back, Keith gets angry when Shiro isn’t an enthusiastic enough participants.

A shiver runs down his spine. Keith insists he act like he is a willing a participant, breaking the illusion is to be punished the same as denial. The first time, the first time Keith reached down and found him soft, he’d called in the guards. He hadn’t meant to. He couldn’t help it. He wasn’t a masochist. He didn’t enjoy the feeling of Keith pressed against his still healing injuries. Somewhere in his panicked babbling, he’d convinced his captor that he wasn’t trying to defy him. Guards had been exchanged for a doctor and a weird concoction, his body had performed to Keith’s whims ever since.

Keith thrusts hard. Shiro gags, as Keith holds him still. Coming down his throat with a blissed out cry. His throat stings when Keith pulls out. Shiro coughs, and Keith laughs at his discomfort, “Come here,” Keith beckons with a smile. Shiro crawls onto the bed, while Keith leers, yanking him into a sloppy kiss as soon as he settles. Hands pull on the edge of his pants, sliding them down far enough to free his leaking cock. Shiro keeps his eyes closed, even when Keith pulls away to watch him. A slightly calloused hand wraps around his cock. Shiro sucks in a breath. Too tight, but he still reacts. Still feels good. Keith made sure of that, “Mmmmmm, all nice and hard for me,” Keith hums, pleased, always pleased, “You liked sucking my cock that much?”

“Y-yes,” No.

Keith kisses him again. Jerking him off, with his tongue in Shiro’s mouth. Shakes, as the heat builds in his gut. It’ll be over soon, “You always look so good like this. All hot and bothered for me,” Keith whispers into his ear, hot breath too close, “Make me want to tie you up and keep you like this for hours. See how long it takes to make you beg. You have such a pretty voice for begging.” Shiro keens. The sting of tears starting behind his eyelids. Please, just be talk. Please. This is bad enough. He can’t take a return of the ropes and this at the same time. Keith makes a pleased noise.

He comes like that, with Keith whispering dark promises into his skin. He hides himself against Keith’s shoulder. Bites his lip hard, as he hides whatever look of despair crosses his face. He’s given time to recover. Keith pets his hair, soft after getting what he wants. Letting Shiro pull himself back together.

A finger traces across his shoulder, tracing a purposeful but unknown path, “I miss your scars,” Keith says quietly.

“My scars?” His scars are right where they’ve always been. Prominent and unmissable when he looks in the mirror. Keith used to enjoy kissing them quite a bit, but that had been for Shiro’s benefit, not from any particular love of them specifically.

“Mmmhmm, especially this one,” Keith murmurs, tracing a circle around a point on his shoulder that is one of the few places on his body he doesn’t have a scar, “That one was my favorite. Always a reminder you were mine.”

“I don’t understand,” Shiro says, carefully pulling away. Watching for the ever present anger, always waiting under the surface.

“You wouldn’t,” Keith replies, with a sad smile, before his face suddenly lights up, “Oh! But I could give them back to you! They wouldn’t be that hard to replicate.” Keith’s crowding him, hands against cupping his face, as demon’s excitement brighten purple eyes, “You’d let me do that wouldn’t you Takashi?” No, no, god no. He has so many already. He doesn’t want any more reminders painting his skin. 

Keith is’nt asking. Just speaking out loud. He gives Shiro a delighted peck on the lips, “We can start with the one on your shoulder.” Keith’s shifting around him, pressing up against Shiro’s unguarded back, “Stay still, pet, and I’ll get you a reward after.” He promises. Keith pushes him down to the mattress, straddling the small of his back. Shiro digs his fingers into the sheets. Counts his breaths. Don’t fight. Don’t panic. Don’t fight, “Stay very still, I don’t want to mess this up,” Keith says, giddy at whatever he’s about to do to him.

He can see him lean down, watch the sharp teeth grow close. His skin splits easily. Blood welling out of stinging pain. Shiro shuts his eyes, and tries to be somewhere else.

-

He’s been back two weeks before Keith realizes that he’s avoiding him specifically. Shiro tried to be inconspicuous about his discomfort. The problem is with Shiro’s inability to get it through his brain that this Keith isn’t the one who hurt him. Keith doesn’t deserve to feel rejected because Shiro can’t control his own irrational panic, but apparently he didn’t disguise his feelings well enough.

Keith catches up with him in the hall after a training session with the team. Allura had understood that they didn’t have time for his emotional breakdown, and he’d been back working with the others as soon as he stopped hiding in his room.

“Shiro, hey, you got a minute?” Keith asks, reaching out to touch him as casually as ever. He’s at least stopped needing to repress the urge to flinch every time Keith gets close, even if he remains hyper-aware of his proximity.

“Do you need something?” Shiro stops walking to talk to him. Model well adjusted leader.

“This is going to sound stupid,” Keith says, looking away from him to stare at the floor. The nervous gestures have been a constant in Shiro’s presence since his rescue, like Keith no longer knows what to expect from him, “I know you haven’t really wanted to talk about what happened before we got you back, and I get it. I’m not trying to pry, but you’ve been…distant. Around me. I understand those first few days were you just wanted to be alone, but I thought eventually, we’d go back to…you know…being together…again.” Keith’s picking at the edge of his armor, but he looks up for the last part, “We haven’t though, and I just need to know. Do you not like…are we okay?”

The last minute word change doesn’t go unnoticed. He’s hurt Keith. Coming back, yet being so distant. He’s so preoccupied with himself he forgets there are others, but what kind of answer can he give? His nights are a sickening mixture of nightmares about his captor and long hours staring at the ceiling missing Keith’s warm body again his own. He wants so many conflicting things, but breaking up not quite. A half-truth will have to do, that will give him a bit a longer, “We’re fine. I just, some things happened, in the other place. I was captured by the Galra again, and they-it’s not you. I just don’t want to be touched right now,” He says, those words can be interpreted multiple ways, “Give me some more time. To get right with myself.”

Keith looks relieved, so that was apparently the right thing to say, “You know, I’ll always be here if you want to talk.” Keith says.

“I know”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time skip to help keep things moving. This is the last chapter for today. I'll rewrite more tomorrow.


	8. No

The stars out the window are unfamiliar, but somehow still soothing. Out of all the privileges Keith has granted him, access to this viewing deck has been the truest reward. He can come here, dim the lights and get lost in the vastness of space. Let his thoughts drift on the wonders of the universe and just be.

“I thought I’d find you here. You always did love the stars.” Shiro jumps. He’d let his guard down, hadn’t heard Keith enter the room. “I’ve never understood what you see in them,” Keith says, dragging a finger across one of the windows, leaving a smudge across the clear surface, before walking over to drape himself over Shiro’s back. Resting his chin on his shoulder. He never hesitates, never asks before doing as he pleases, “But it’s good to see you enjoying yourself again.” Keith say, a soft fondness coloring his voice.

“Did you need something, my prince?” Shiro asks. Galra terms of respect have reentered into his speech so quickly. It’s like he never left their care at all. Habits buried after his escape reasserting themselves so easily when demanded of him.

“How are your wounds?” Keith asks, reaching down to pluck at his bandaged wrist.

“They are nearly fully healed, sir.” Once he was certain he’d obey, Keith had let the Galra doctors have him. Not the druid, with their masks and soul staining magic, but the medics with scissors and stitches. They’d rubbed foul smelling creams on his skin and injected him with oddly color liquids that made him ill, unable to stomach the softest meal, but every cut had begun to close up over night. Except, of course, the ones the prince wanted to scar.

“Mmmmmm, good,” Keith purrs, hands slipping under his shirt, “I’ve been thinking. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you fight.”

“Has it?” Shiro says, trying not to betray how his gut is clenching at the thought.

“Yes, and I miss it so. You always look so dashing standing in the sands of the arena, coated in the blood of your opponents,” Keith’s grin is hungry in the reflection.

“I didn’t know you’d ever seen my matches,” Shiro replies hesitantly. Had he seen a recording? Why would Keith watch something like that? Why would he tell Shiro he had? He used to know that Shiro hated thinking about that year.

“Of course I have. It’s why I chose you,” Keith must notice his confusion, because he lets out a sigh, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I came here to tell you that I think that it’s time for you to start again.”

Shiro jerks away, pulling out of Keith’s loose grip to face his captor, “No.” He says, his breathing picking up. He isn’t ever supposed to go back to the arena. That part of his life is over.

“Takashi! Come back here now.” Keith scolds, scowling as he gestures for Shiro to return to his arms. Keith was touching, he isn’t supposed to pull away.

Shiro slowly turns back around, scooting back, so Keith can wrap himself around him once again. “Good boy,” Keith scratches his head like a dog, “As I was saying, I think you’re healed enough to start back up. I’ve already picked a few slaves for you to begin with.” This, this is happening. Keith is going to force him to go back, to re-wet his hands with the blood of prisoners. He’s shaking, he can’t, “Don’t worry, I know you’re a bit rusty. I made sure they were some of the weaker ones.” As if he was doing Shiro a favor, by throwing someone helpless for him to slaughter, “You can start practicing on them, and then move back up to something a bit more difficult.” Keith explains cheerfully. Ignoring every sign of how Shiro doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t care, how can he not care?

“What-”, Shiro hesitates, questioning Keith is walking on thin ice, but, but he has to, “What if I don’t want to.” Maybe, Keith sees this as some sort of reward. His idea of what Shiro should like is already so twisted. If he doesn’t want this, maybe he won’t make him.

Keith frowns, “Don’t be like that, pet. You’re the Champion,” He nuzzles against Shiro’s throat, reassurance for the wrong thing, “You will fight.”

“What will you do if I refuse to,” What will he have to pay?

“You know what happens when you refuse me,” Keith says, his nails beginning to bite against Shiro’s skin.

He does. He knows to well what will happen, no matter how much he tries to deny. Keith will throw him back in the cell. Keep him in the pain and dark until he’ll do anything to get back out. Last time he’d agreed to become a human sex toy so Keith would stop, but this, this is different. Whoring himself is only his own humiliation. His own scraps of torn dignity. Going back to the arena, he’d be a murderer again, but so much worse than the time before. He wouldn’t be fighting for his life, but merely to avoid his own pain. A whole new depth of monster. There was only one right choice to make.

Fear crawled up his throat, tried to steal his breath, force him to stay silent, but he meets those pretty eyes that hide so much cruelty.

“No”

-

The walls are closing in, pulsing with light as Keith laughs. He has a wicked looking knife, and he’s considering it with his demon grin. “You’ve been a bad boy, Takashi,” He grabs Shiro’s hair, holding him still while the blade dances in front of his eye, “Maybe I should cut out your tongue. It gets you in so much trouble.” The blade is pressing up against his lips, threatening to cut through them and tear the muscle from his mouth, “Mmmmmm, but then you won’t be able to beg me with your pretty pretty voice. How about something else, like your arm? You’d look so much better if they matched?” The knife stabs through his bicep, and Shiro screams.

“Shiro wake up.” His captor is hovering above him. His bonds are gone. He needs to stop him, but his captor jumps back before Shiro’s punch can land. “Woah, woah.” Hands up, motion to stop, “It’s me, Keith,” Shiro knows who he is, “It’s okay, you’re safe. It was just a nightmare.” Keith is backing up across the room, giving him space. Why? Shiro hesitates. The floor, the ceiling, light metal lit by blue, this isn’t his cell. He looks around, breathing hard. Soft couches, no bed. He’s not on a Galra ship at all. This is the common room in the Castle. Oh.

“You back with me?” Keith asks. Hands lowering, with Shiro’s realization.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m with you,” Shiro says. Why was he in here? Sleeping exposed? Movie, that’s right, he was watching a movie with the other paladins. Coran had insisted it was a classic, but the dullness with his general trouble sleep had him drifting off long before it was done.

“Good,” Keith says, sitting down beside him. Shiro flinches, and Keith immediately scoots further down the couch. Not his captor, but distance, distance is good.

“Where’s everybody else?” Shiro asks. Everyone was there for the movie, but he and Keith are alone in the room and something completely different is playing on the monitor.

“They headed off to bed after the movie. Coran said there was a sequel so I stuck around to watch it. You were sleeping so peacefully, we didn’t want to move you.” Keith explains. Probably not the whole truth. Keith has had a habit of trying to monitor his sleep since they became paladins, but he’d be a hypocrite to call him out on his half truth.

“Right, I think I’m going to try and fall back to sleep in my own bed,” Shiro stands up. Escape, maybe rest.

“You sure? I’m not that far into the movie, I can restart it. If you want to watch?” Keith looks up at him hopefully.

No, not alone, not with Keith, not after that nightmare. That wouldn’t be fair to either of them. That’s what he tells himself, “I’m too tired tonight, but tomorrow, when everyone else wakes up we can watch it. If you still want to.” He offers instead. Keith’s presence won’t be so oppressive when muted by the others.

“Okay, if you’re sure. Goodnight Shiro.” Keith doesn’t seem as disappointed as the other times.

“Goodnight Keith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one for the night, be back with more rewrites tomorrow.


	9. I'm Sorry

Keith has brought back his prod. Every muscle in Shiro’s body spasms and screams. Twists him against his binds until his flesh gives and his tendons wrench. There is no air left in his lungs, mouth locked open in a silent scream. Can’t think. Can’t plead. The current stops, Keith sneers, but his chest hearts, burns deep inside. Head light as air, spinning on the teacups. Pain, streaking pain. Keith’s lips move, more words, but he can’t hear. His ears listening through an ocean. The world is fading at the edges. Growing dark…slipping away…he can’t hold……

.

Shouting voices, clattering metal, alarms? Nothing coherent, a world painted in blurry water colors. His chest aches, like someone has taken a hammer to it. Someone has spilled ink on the painting, tendrils overtaking the colo……

.

Bright, painfully bright, an arena’s spotlight in his eyes. He can’t turn away, can’t protect his sight. “Taikashee Shirogainee” Deep bellows, a dream? Reality? Mountains mangling his name around stalactite fangs, “Can you hear me?” Head set in stone, can’t nod. A crack in the place of his voice, maybe yes, maybe the rock understands, “Basic cognitive functions seem to be intact. We’ll have to wait until he is more full recove-”……

.

Anger, rage, Keith, “When will he wake up!” Pain, this promises pain.

“Give him time, my prince. His condition was dire.” The deep voice sounds familiar but from where?

“I have given you time. More than enough time, and he still isn’t conscious.” He should say something. Redirect the anger before it grows too fierce. Keith will be mad at him if he doesn’t……

.

Scratchy sheets against his skin. Not warm, but not cold. Aches but no sharp tears. Shiro opens his eyes. Where is he? Everything echos of dejavu, but from when? Don’t try. If his mind has forgotten, then nightmares probably rest there.

“Ah good, you’re awake.” Deep voice, he’s heard it before. Oh, Galra, medical uniform. He was one of the ones with needles full of sickness and claims to make his wounds better. He must be in the medical wing. Patient room?

“Drink this.” Something is shoved in his face. Cup, he can’t see inside, but is that a bendy straw? Shiro smiles. Who would have thought the Galra would create something so simple and familiar. His lips crack around the motion, his throat sandpaper. He’s so thirsty. He pulls cool water in desperate little sips. The doctor takes it away long before he’s quenched.

The Galra pick up a tablet, opens up some program, “What is your name?” The doctor asks.

Surely, he already knows who Shiro is. The Galra are quite efficient with their files, but sarcasm towards the one treating him will only lead to unnecessary pain, “Takashi Shirogane,” His voice doesn’t sound like his own. Too rough and cracked.

A click, checklist, seeing if something is wrong with his memory. He’s done this before, “Where were you born?”

“Earth” The Galra use a different designation, but he refuses to say it. His home isn’t their’s to name.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” The doctor holds up two clawed fingers.

“Two.”

“Do you know what happened?”

Pain, so much pain, “I was tortured,” He whispers.

“Electrocuted to be precise. I told the prince that your system wasn’t strong enough for prolonged exposure, but does he listen to me. No, of course not.” The doctor grumbles, “Your mental functions don’t seem to have been affected from oxygen deprivation. Thank the Emperor. The fit that would be thrown if you came back an idiot.” The doctor finishes filling out his form and sets the tablet down, “The prince will be down in a moment. Try not to pass out between now and then. You will not like how you are woken back up.” Is that a threat or advice? It can be hard to tell with them. There’s nothing else, a few more readings are recorded and Shiro is left alone to wait.

Staying awakes isn’t a problem. He’s not tired. The Galra don’t believe in waisting pain medication on prisoners. The most a gladiator could hope for is a sedative to keep them still. If he’d been given anything, it has long worn off. Keith arrives before he can grow bored of accessing his injuries.

The prince isn’t angry. That’s not right. He should be furious Shiro had evaded his punishment. His rage has never abated without his concession before, but there is nothing but relief on his face. Keith rushes to his bedside. Shiro flinches, as he’s dragged into a hug. The arms around him hurt, carelessly squeezing against his abused skin. He dare not complain. This is the happiest he’s seen his captor since his refusal to fight. Maybe he’s been forgiven. 

Keith releases him from the bone crushing hug, looking him up and down, making sure he’s okay. Shiro isn’t prepared for the fist crashing into his jaw, “Are you happy now!” Keith screams at him, wrenching Shiro’s face around before he can recover. 

“You nearly died.” Keith raps his knuckles against the electrical burn over Shiro’s heart. It hurts, he wants to back away, but Keith holds him still with nails in his cheek, “After everything I’ve done. After all the work I put into bringing you back. You can’t just be grateful.” 

Keith shoves him back, storms through the room, pacing and gesturing wildly, “You always have to push! Refuse to do as you’re told, and look where its gotten you!” Keith whirls around, stalks towards him and jabs his finger against Shiro’s burn, “Your heart stopped Takashi. The doctors told me you might wake up a vegetable.” 

The strength fades from Keith’s voice, his face crumples, and his eyes shine with unshed tears, “Why do you do this to yourself?” Shaking fingers are touching Shiro’s cheek, “Why couldn’t you just do what I asked?” He’s being hugged again, desperately tight.

“I’m sorry,” What else can Shiro say, when presented with this?

“You better be.” Keith lets him go, “You aren’t allowed to leave me again.”

-

Keith’s performance has been suffering. He didn’t notice at first, so obsessed with making sure that his brand new set of issues didn’t interfere with his own, but as he has grown more comfortable, he’s started to see outside of himself again. Keith is very obviously losing a step.

The first time he’d asked, Keith just told him he was a bit tired and not to worry. Shiro didn’t press. Keith would handle his problem now the he was made aware others were noticing, and for a while he did. Keith pulls himself back together, watches the other paladin’s backs, and if he is unusually quiet, well Shiro is too. He is not in a position to judge.

Things don’t last. Eventually, Keith starts slipping again. Banging into rocky surfaces when precision flying Red. Failing to fully guard Lance’s back during group exercises. Taking one too many hits when solo training with the bots. The final straw is when Keith nods off during breakfast. Shiro has to intervene. He’s the leader of Voltron. It would be a dereliction of duty to allow this to progress any further. Left to fester this issue could potentially endanger one of their missions.

He’s not cruel. He doesn’t speak to Keith then and there. In front of his teammates and the Alteans. Shiro waits until he can pull Keith into a side room to confront him. Even if his chest tightens the moment they are alone together.

Keith doesn’t look good. There are dark bags under his eyes. His reaction time is just a moment more delayed than normal. His whole body seems to be sagging under the weight of exhaustion. He shouldn’t have waited so long to speak to him. A good leader shouldn’t let things gets this bad before intervening.

“How much rack time have you been getting?” Straight to the point has always been the best approach when dealing with Keith.

“Seven hours,” Keith says, bullshitting him straight to his face. He’s seen Keith on seven hours of sleep a night. He doesn’t look like this.

“Don’t lie to me,” Shiro adopts his old mentor tone, the coaxing one instead of ordering. Keith responds better when he doesn’t demand, “You look like a walking zombie. How much sleep have you been getting?” He asks again.

“Enough,” Keith replies obstinately. Brick walls had nothing on Keith Kogane.

So this is how it’s going to be. Shiro scrubs at his face, he doesn’t have anywhere better to be, but this could go on for hours depending on how stubborn Keith decides to be, “You nearly face planted in your food goo this morning.” He reminds him, “If that’s enough, I’d hate to see what too little looks like.”

Keith eyes cut away from him, staring off at nothing in particular, “I’m handling it, okay,” Keith says, “You don’t have to worry.”

“Keith, I’m responsible for this team’s performance.” The same thing he’d had to keep telling himself, when working up for this conversation, “It’s my job to worry.”

“That’s the fucking problem.” Keith mutters.

What? “Excuse me?” Shiro says.

Keith flushes, apparently he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, “No, forget I said anything. I’ll go get some sleep. Your leaderly duties are satisfied.” Keith makes a break for the exit, but Shiro blocks his path. Barring the door with his arm.

“I’m not just going to forget it.” He says, letting some of his building frustration leak into his voice. Since when had Keith been so unwilling to just tell him what he’s thinking? “Explain what you mean, how is my worrying the problem.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Keith shouts, “You’re getting it all wrong.” Keith crosses his arms. He looks like he’s trying to give himself a hug. What had he missed? What had he let build due to his own discomfort?

“Then tell me, and I can get it right.” Neither of them are going anywhere until this is resolved. He won’t let interpersonal issues compromise Voltron.

Keith knows him. Knows Shiro can be just as stubborn if not more stubborn than him. The younger man caves, “You were gone again, Shiro…” Keith starts, then trails off. Losing himself on the way to next sentence.

“You mean when I changed universes.” Shiro offers, a cue to jog his thoughts.

Keith nods, “Yeah, I’d finally gotten you back, after so long we were together again and things were right.” Keith’s lips turn up in a shaky smile, “Then…then, then you disappeared!” Keith’s eyes squeeze shut at the declaration, as if the thought physically pains him before opening them again, “There wasn’t a body, just like last time. You were gone, poof. Without a trace. We-I didn’t even know if you were still alive.” Keith’s staring somewhere around Shiro’s chest, but he’s not seeing him. Keith’s looking at an empty cockpit, “Even once we found out what happened, space is 99 percent empty. Slav calculated the odds of you going somewhere with oxygen and survivable temperature ranges. They were astronomical. He thought we were bringing your body back for a funeral.”

He’d never thought. He’d been so preoccupied trying to handle himself, keep everything that happened away from the the others. He never stopped to think what the search for him had been like. They thought they were bringing home a corpse, “I’m sorry.” He should have realized what his disappearance would have been like for Keith.

“Don’t, don’t apologize, it’s not your fault.” Keith absolves him off handedly, “Besides, that’s not the real issue.” There’s more?

“Then what is?” Shiro asks.

“I always believed you were alive. Just like after the ‘pilot error’,” Keith sneers on the words, like they taste foul in his mouth, “I knew you were still out there. I just had to find you, but when I did, it didn’t feel like you came back.” 

Keith takes a deep breath before continuing, “I used to have nightmares about looking for you at the Garrison. Running through the halls calling your name, but I could never find you.” Keith arms wrap tighter around himself with his confession. He sniffs wetly, “They stopped when you crash landed back on Earth. I thought they were gone for good.” 

Keith reaches up to wipe his eyes roughly, “Then you went missing and I started having them about the Castle. Except this time they didn’t stop when we found you.” Keith’s ducking his head, hiding his face behind his hair, “You’re here, but you don’t feel like you’re really here.” His breath is hitching. This is all Shiro’s fault. He’s the one who’s been pushing Keith away without proper explanation. He’s the one who’s been treating his lover like a leper with no real time frame for them to come back together. He did this to him.

“Keith,” Shiro says softly. Carefully placing his arms around the smaller man. Keith leans into the hug, fingers curling into Shiro’s shirt. He buries his head against his shoulder. The spot Keith’s hiding his eyes is grows damp.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Keith whispers. He’s trembling against Shiro. Too many emotions, suppressed for too long, “I shouldn’t be telling you this. You have your own problems. I’m so sorry.”

“Shhhh, it’s okay.” Shiro murmurs, gingerly petting Keith’s hair, “You didn’t do anything wrong. Everything is going to be okay.” Hesitantly, he presses a kiss to Keith’s temple. Keith cries harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, this chapter was so dialogue heavy. This all had to be done, but jeez, this took forever to get through.


	10. Takashi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude to answer the great question. What about Alt!Shiro?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: *Spoiler* suicide *Spoiler*

The Champion is magnificent. Bloodthirsty and clever. He’s faced a hundred aliens faster and stronger than him in the arena and come out victorious each and every time. He is also the first of his Father’s race that Keith has ever seen.

Many deca-phoebs ago, Keith’s mother had come back from a scouting mission pregnant with the bastard child of a backwater race from a planet with little to no strategic value. Interbreeding may not be frowned upon in the Empire, even encouraged in the cases of species with useful traits for the Galra species as a whole, but the child she gave birth to was an embarrassment to his mother’s family. Keith was tiny, smaller than any of his cousins. No claws tipped his chubby fingers or sharp little fangs in his mouth. In fact he had no teeth at all! He didn’t even have fur to hide his sickly pink skin from the elements. Truly the tiny bundle his mother clutched to her chest was shameful in his weakness.

A creature only a mother could love, and when she died, his fate seemed to be sealed. He would be cast out. Thrown from his familial home, like so much trash, to navigate the world alone. A just place, for one with so little to offer. That would have been his future, if not for one of his uncles seeing the spark of something greater in his anger laden eyes.

He’d been taken in, granted a chance to prove himself worthy of his name. His uncle’s molding had been harsh, no room for vulnerability. Where others were merely expected to succeed, he was to excel. He was to be the quickest, the cleverest, the most learned, and the most skilled among all his peers. A finely tuned weapon, sharpened to a razor point. His upbringing had left scars, reminders of failure’s consequences, but his uncle’s care had created the Galra he was today.

Once unleashed upon the world, his preparation had made his rise to the uppermost levels of honor and power as a matter of course. He knew no mercy, raining down a cruelty on the enemies of the Empire unmatched by his pure blooded peers. His reputation became legend, the mere presence of his ship on the battlefield caused his foes to flee in terror, few managed to escape their fates. His prowess and blood thirstiness was whispered among the weak of stomach and toasted at feasts. Until tale of his work reached the Emperor himself. When offered the position of Prince, he had accepted his due. All knew the honor of his presence.

Now, in the blood soaked sands of the arena, he sees a kindred soul. Someone else wrapped in soft flesh and pink skin, who tears the throats from any who dare underestimate him. A member of his Father’s race, reminding all that Keith was not bred from an inferior strain. His was a heritage of victorious warriors, one to be feared. He would meet this gladiator, this reflection of himself, and he would own him.

.

The Champion stands quietly, letting Keith circle him unhindered. Mute but wary under his examination. He is taller than Keith. It’s disappointing to see that even among his Father’s kind he is short. The gladiator’s muscles are bigger too, shoulders broader, dwarfing Keith in every way. The effect is oddly appealing, dredging up flashes of desires he normally has no time for. He will forgive the gladiator his size.

“Champion, what is your name?” Keith asks.

“Takashi Shirogane,” The Champion answers promptly, his eyes not wavering from their forward position. Dutifully respectful.

“Takashi Shirogane,” Keith tries the name in his mouth. The combination of syllables is strange, but not the hardest he’s ever been asked to pronounce, “I assume that is your whole name, what is your given?”

“Takashi,” Hmmmm, yes, the alieness suits him. A constant reminder to all who hear, that the Champion is not one of the Galra.

“He will do,” Keith says to the guards. They will take care of all the necessary arrangements, “I expect him in my quarters by morning.” He turns and leaves them to his orders. He has gained quite the prize this day.

.

Takashi is everything he could have ever dreamed of possessing. Knowledgeable about his Father’s species, a deadly fighter, never disappointing in the arena, and a beautiful playmate in bed. If he could ascribe any flaw to the man, his tendency towards monosyllabic answers might rank. Conversation truly doesn’t seem to be his strong point, but that isn't too much of a hardship to bear. He much prefers to be listened to anyways, and Takashi is an excellent listener.

.

Keith hurries through the halls. The desert in his hands will surely cheer his pet up. Takashi has been terribly depressed of late. Keith really should have refused to look up the fates of the humans captured with him, but his pet had asked so sweetly. Did that thing Keith adores with his tongue, then made his request in the after glow. He would have given the man the world in that moment. Keith sighs. What’s done is done. Takashi knows about the other’s deaths in the work camps. He can’t take the information back now.

He really doesn’t understand, why his pet cares so much. They’d been weak, unfit for his company. His very first act in the arena had been to attack one of them in his eagerness to fight. Of course, considering what he knew of the species so far, maybe such acts of violence where how they showed affection. No matter, he was carrying his Takashi’s favorite treat. Everything would be fine.

He found his pet where he left him, in their bedroom. Sitting with shoulders slumped on the edge of their bed. Takashi was staring at his prosthetic, activating and deactivating the deadly purple glow rhythmically.

“I’ve brought you something,” Keith announces, opening the box to show him the goodies inside. Takashi looks up at the confections for a moment, eyes dull without the usual excitement for his treats. He doesn’t reach for them, doesn’t hoard them to eat all in one sitting, just drops his eyes back to his hand.

“Don’t be like that. These are your favorites.” Keith cajoles, sitting down beside the larger human. Trying to coax him out of his funk. Takashi doesn’t look up from the slowly flashing light, “Come now, if you eat quickly, you can finish a few before your next match.” If he’d just behave like normal, Keith would gladly let them be late, so he could finish his snack.

The glow leaves his arm, but he doesn’t look up, “Match?” Takashi asks quietly. There is something strange about his eyes, almost too wide.

“Yes, a match.” Keith answers eagerly, arranged specifically to improve his mood, “Sendak has returned from his expedition and he’s found the most interesting new species. They haven’t achieved space flight yet, but they might prove capable in the arena.” Keith explains. Maybe he’s exaggerating their potential a bit, but all for a good cause, “I know you’ve felt terrible, so I’ve arranged for you to be their first opponent.” The fight would be a slaughter. Most these first contact fights were, but an easy slaughter would do his pet good right now.

As he speaks, Takashi stills. He hardly seems to breathe. His arm reactivates, the purple glow casting his skin in odd shades. His pet is shaking? A flash, a streak of light. Pure instinct has him throwing up his arms to protect his head. Something warm and wet splashes him, a droplet finding its way through to his lip. Keith lowers his hands…Takashi…His prosthetic, his arm, is still active. Boiling. Buried-dark red leaking, not purple, why isn’t there more purple-to the wrist, in his own throat.

The body falls over. Keith screams.

.

Takashi had been dead before he hit the floor. The heat from his hand had boiled his brain. Erasing everything that he was. Even the druids couldn’t bring him back.

Keith had raged in his mourning. His underlings had scurried to appease him. Offering the most beautiful, the strongest slaves they could find to replace his loss. Most never left his room alive.

One enterprising officer had taken a ship all the way to Takashi’s home planet. Coming back with a hold of new humans for him to own. He’d still hurt, but temporarily his rage had subsided. Only to come back ten fold when he found them to be weak cowering creatures to the last. None held a candle to the memory of his Takashi.

The doctors had offered to clone his pet. Bring back a perfect copy for him to train as he pleased. Keith had shut them down with a sneer. He didn’t want a faltering child for a slave. He wanted the Champion, vicious and victorious. What good was the body without the mind?

A druid was the one to finally come up with a plan to give him what he truly wanted. She’d spoken at length about the existence of multiple dimensions. How out there, somewhere, there were hundreds, thousands, no infinite amounts of Takashi’s with just the slightest variation from his own. She’d promised him, that with her power she could pluck one of these Takashi’s from his universe and bring him to Keith’s own. The price had been steep. More than a planet’s worth of quintessence and holds full of slaves for her experiments. He’d required her life as collateral, but if she succeeded, then all would be well spent. 

She’d worked day and night. Requisitioning the labs of his ships for her machines. Calling in the highest level prisoners for consultations. Anything she needed, Keith granted her. Until one quintant, many phoebs later, she came to him. She was done.

.

The room is covered in wires, running to and from machines of unknown purposes, operated by cowed assistants. Mystical runes, stinking of dark magic, are carved into every wall and circle the floor in a building spiral centered around an altar. Raised from shadowy metal that absorbs light and play tricks on the eyes. This is the culmination of the work that will bring Takashi back to him.

The druid has warned him that she can only bring back something that is close to his original. Searching the infinite dimensions for an exact match would take an eternity he does not wish to wait. She will find him a Takashi. One brought from his home planet to become Champion of their arena. He will have his deadly gift from the druids replacing his organic arm. Even his scars will be mostly the same, but his memories will differ. Small changes that must be ironed out with harsh training to mold him back into Keith’s beloved pet.

This is an acceptable caveat. He’s prepared accordingly. The perfect cell, the right tools. He is confident in his abilities. Within a deca-phoeb, he’ll have a perfect copy of the original. Not even he will be able to tell the difference.

“Begin,” Keith orders. The druid nods and signals to her assistants. A switch is flipped. Black energy begins to pulse out of her, dancing between the runes before feeding into the machines surrounding them. The very air is building, charging, in preparation. A moment of heavy anticipation, and then, a blinding flash of light. Keith shields his eyes, blinks away the spots. Dark lightening is crackling from the alter, striking out against the walls and those unfortunate enough to be too close.

Takashi is unconscious upon the dais.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, the next chapter is 6,000 words long. I’m going to start working on it today, but I have a Pathfinder’s game tomorrow and I’m helping my brother move on Sunday. There is a non-insignificant chance that the next update won’t be until late Sunday or early Monday, sorry.


	11. It's Always Darkest...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final foray into the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is set solely in the past. We're wrapping up Shiro's time with Prince Keith this chapter.
> 
> Warning: Rape/Non-Con 
> 
> (Only one scene, if you skip to the next one there will be references towards it but nothing graphic)

The wonders of intergalactic medicine has never been one of Shiro’s regrets. Even in the arena, when his shattered bones became whole in mere days, forcing him back to the arena always too soon, he’d been grateful for what the healing meant for his survival. Wounds meant death and he’d wanted to live, but now, as the doctor clears him for return to Keith’s care, he wishes his injuries had not mended so quickly. Barely a couple days have passed since his near death experience, and he is already sentenced to the tortures of his cell once more. This is a hell without escape.

Two guards drag him from the medical cot. Escort him at the point of their rifles, from the meager reprieve provided by the medical wing. They are not taking him to his cell, not yet. First he must be judged, his punishment handed down, they are taking him to the Prince.

Keith is waiting for him in the bedroom he’s kept when not in the cell. Sitting on the edge of the bed with fingers steepled. Shiro is thrust to his knees before him, head forcibly bowed. The guards snap to attention, ‘Verpit Sa’, then leave just as quickly as the came. Shiro keeps his head down, eyes on the floor. There is nothing he can do, nothing he can say, to avoid his fate.

“Your stubbornness nearly got you killed,” Keith says, standing to circle him. Don’t flinch, don’t shake, fear will only make him angrier, “Tell me, have you learned your lesson?” Keith asks. He can’t give the Prince the answer he wants. The near murder was an accident. He doubts Keith will repeat it, which means nothing has changed. He’s still weighing his own pain versus an innocent’s life. He’s not desperate enough to be forced into that trade yet. Shiro stays silent.

Silence isn’t an acceptable response, “Answer me!” Keith shouts, grabbing his hair and pulling back his head, “Did you learn your lesson?” Keith snarls. There is no way to win.

“No, sir,” Shiro says, stronger than he is. He braces for a hit, for Keith to call back the guards and order him to his cell. He can’t stop this. He’s helpless to the whims of a maniac. The expected blow doesn’t come. 

Keith lets go of his hair. Shiro bows his head again, waits. Keith sighs. Socked feet pad to the head of the bed, the mattress squeaks, “Come here,” An order, still angry, but not enraged.

Shiro looks up. Keith’s back is to the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. He’s patting the spot beside him. A mirror image of a scene played out on many nights before. Expectations are clear.

Shiro climbs onto the bed, crawls towards him, and lays his head in Keith’s lap. As soon as he’s settled, a hand begins to card through his hair, “Good boy,” Keith says, “At least you still listen to me in some things.” He sounds tired. Shiro’s muscles relax in response. He should be on guard, trying to figure out what’s going on, but he’s been in so much pain for so long. He can’t resist the soft touch. The promise of some kindness. 

“What am I going to do with you, Takashi?” Keith sighs. Speaking out loud, not a question seeking a response. Shiro keeps his mouth shut, and enjoys the scratch of nails against his scalp. If left alone, he could sleep like this.

“You know I can’t let you do whatever you want. It’s important that you obey me.” Keith says, like he’s a dog that peed on the carpet instead of a human he refused to participate in cold blood murder. Keith’s fingers drift down from Shiro’s scalp to tap against his chest, right above his heart, “Don’t think just because you nearly died, you’re getting out of things. You are still going into the arena.” Keith dashes his newly bloomed hopes. He’s so stupid. After Keith’s freak out and how his affectionate side had come back so suddenly, he thought, he thought maybe ideas of the arena had been abandoned. He’s such an idiot.

“But circumstances have convinced me that maybe it was unwise to rush you right back into things.” Keith says, going back to his ministrations, “Some have suggested that it might be best to ease you into being the Champion again. Start with beasts and we can work our way back up to prisoners. How does that sound?” Like delaying the inevitable. Putting off the punishment for refusal until a later date, all while providing amusement for bloodthirsty spectators. Still animals are preferable to scared prisoners. Turning down the opportunity for rest would be foolish. He isn’t going to get a better offer.

“Like a good idea, sir,” Shiro replies, closing his eyes. No better options.

Keith claps his hands together, scattering what little calmness Shiro had gained, “Perfect, we’ll start as soon as the doctor’s say you’re ready.”

.

Shiro gets a few days to sleep in a real bed before the guards come for him.

No restraints, no pointed weaponry, just two escorts ushering him down an unfamiliar path. He isn’t guided to the arena or even one of the preparation rooms for the gladiators. Keith is waiting for him in a chamber used for a smaller sort of spectated fights.

The room is dominated by the fighting ring. A large square of cleared space surrounded by sturdy partial walls. They are a bit tall for him to view over comfortably, but the average Galra would have no issue. Slots in the ceiling conceal a barrier that can be pulled down if a fight threatens to spill over into the watching crowd.

There are no crowds at the moment. Keith’s only allowed the bare minimum personnel necessary for the fight to take place. Was the Prince worried his unwillingness to fight would leave to a unsatisfactory performance? He seems the type to be concerned about witnesses damaging the Champion’s reputation. Maybe he will be spared the arena after all. Maybe, if he shows a lack of suitable blood thirst, he’ll never have to hear the deafening roar of a thousand alien tongues screaming the name ‘Champion’ again.

Keith waves him over. The Prince is opposite him perched on a dividing wall with a perfect view to see the fight in all its gory detail. Shiro walks to the nearest divider and hops over. Keith will read the move as eagerness, please him into believing this was the right division. On his way over, Shiro is forced to skirt a shaking cage watched by a wary handler, his opponent probably. A cloth is thrown over the cage, obscuring most of the creature from view, but a slimy black tentacle is wrapped around one of the bars and some sort of limb ending in a sharp point keeps stabbing the ground in front of it. He’s never seen something like this before. It’s probably deadly.

Keith smiles, as Shiro stops in front of him. Fingers cup his cheek, feather soft. Keith is getting what he wants, he’s always sweet when he gets what he wants, “Ready for your fight, Champion?” Keith asks.

Shiro bristles at the name, but doesn’t protest. Smaller venue or no, he’s still going to shed blood for their amusement. These are the acts that branded him with that title, “Yes, my Prince,” Shiro says, stiffly dipping his head.

“Good,” Keith says, viciously pleased, “I’ve found the most interesting creature for you today. The V’loks call it a Sqauch. Silly name for such a deadly creature, but what can you expect from the lesser races,” Keith waves his hands, “It should provide you an adequate challenge.” Keith gives him a light shove towards the center of the ring, “Now go, remind me of what you can do.” Shiro goes with the movement, turns and walks to his starting position.

The handler is watching him, waiting for his signal to start the match. Shiro nods, he’s as ready as he’ll ever be.

The handler kicks the cage, exciting the monster inside. Loud gurgling noises spill out, the shaking within growing so fierce the edges of the container lift off the ground. Satisfied, the handler pulls the cloth free and hits the release button for the door in one fluid movement. He hightails it out of there ring before the creature can spring free. He needn’t have hurried, the thing only has eye stalks for Shiro. Generously, the alien could be called a spider the size of a large dog, with a razor toothed octopus for a mouth, and eyestalks pointed every which way. Not so generously, it was a freak of nature that Keith should have left in whatever hell hole he found it in.

The animal bends its legs, flaring its tentacles in a gurgling hiss, before leaping towards him. Shiro dives to the side. The thing hasn’t charged like a normal beast, only jumped. Possibly its main mode of locomotion when hunting? 

It didn’t need a moment to catch its bearings, already coiling for another pounce as its feet touched the ground. It’s much closer this time and Shiro barely has enough time to scramble out of the way, he needs to attack back on the next move or he is going to get skewered by the points of it’s sharp legs. 

Except another jump isn’t coming, one of the thing’s tentacles has wrapped around the fingers on his right hand. He’s too slow on the uptake, he hasn’t had any time to train since being captured. The beast pulls swinging its momentum around to throw itself at Shiro. Stabbing at him with the sharp points of its legs before he can block.

Pain slices his sides and flesh arm as he activates his prosthetic. Burning heat forcing the creature to let go. A gargling shriek, the thing pushes off with it’s hind legs putting distance between the two of them. He’s lucky, so lucky one of those blows didn’t go pierce his stomach. He should have turned his arm on the second he felt something touch it. This used to be instinct. Focus. Should haves later. Fight now.

The thing is gurgling to itself, focused in on its burn, patting at it with the other tentacles. Freak of nature it may be but still an animal. First thought of a predator, when the prey fights back, is to find easier prey. It hadn’t held on and fight until Shiro was a pincushion, so it was exotic enough to be poorly trained. Still running on basics instincts, more than what entertains the audience. It will be back momentarily, but he has precious time to prepare. 

He’s had several jumps to figure out the limits of this creatures range. He backs up until he’s on the higher end. Here he’ll have more time to respond when attacked. Carefully he crouches down and hides his right arm behind his bulk. The thing was probably smart enough to realize the difference between the parts of him that hurt to touch and those that didn’t. He needed it to think he was a good target for another head on attack.

There is a sharp whistle from the handler on the sidelines, and the thing stops tending its burn and focuses back in on Shiro. Good. It bends its knees again and lets out another gurgling hiss. Then it is leaping across the distance between them. Gotcha. Shiro’s smiles. Springing forward himself. Ducking under the arc of it sharp legs, he brings his glowing purple of his arm up through its abdomen. 

The thing shrieks. Shiro rips his arm out of its carapace, then plunges it back in closer to the head. No way to be certain where what passes for a brain is in this thing, but do enough damage and anything will eventually die. He stabs it several more times for good measure. Alien gore spraying up to coat him with each new wound. Adrenalin sings in his veins, shouting his triumph and survival, as the thing twitches once more before going still. Victory is a high like no other. At least, until he hears the clapping.

Clap, clap, clap, Keith is applauding with absolute glee from his perch. Shiro’s stomach plummets. He’s torn from the place of base survival, to be reminded exactly what he’s been doing. What a good little attack dog he is. A little violence, and he forgets all his distastes.

Keith laughs, waving him over, “Come here, come here, let me appreciate you,” Keith yells. Shiro’s feet are stone. Rooted to the earth with shame, but he pulls them loose and follows the call of his master. He’d wanted to please the Prince, convince him to accept this smaller show, and now he’s pleased. No one to blame but himself.

Keith pulls him into a kiss, open mouthed and dirty. Hands curl in his hair as a tongue traces his teeth. Shiro is a dead fish, doing little more than limply letting Keith take whatever he wants. Keith doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, he never does. A harsh bite to his lower lip, and Shiro is released.

Hungry purple eyes look down on him, “Mmmm, you did so well, pet. Less than a minute between introduction ‘till kill. You always know how to please,” Keith wraps his legs around Shiro’s torso then drops down, forcing him to catch and support him. Keith is hard, turned on from watching him fight. Keith’s crotch rubs against Shiro as he leans in for another kiss. The guards are watching, the handler is watching. They have an audience, and the Prince doesn’t seem to care.

Keith pulls back, hands plucking at Shiro’s gore stained shirt, “It’s in your blood. Drop you into a fight and you just can’t help yourself,” Keith purrs. Pressing their foreheads together, letting his breath mingling with Shiro’s. Please no, please not here, in front of everyone. They know, they all have to know, the Prince has never been subtle, but…but…

“I think you deserve a reward,” Keith presses close, whispers in his ear, “Take me back to the room, and I’ll give you one.”

Relief floods his system, there won’t be a public display. He won’t be used in front of gossiping guards. Humiliation layered upon every else…but it’s still going to happen, “I’m tired,” Words spilling from his lips before he can think, “From the fight,” A poor excuse, but it doesn’t imply he’s unwilling in general. That he’s trying to deny the Prince, “It might be best that I rest.” He nearly died recently, and Keith seems to care about his physical well being, when he isn’t angry with him.

“Truly?” Keith asks with a small frown.

Shiro tries to looks as exhausted as possible, “Yes,” He nods.

Keith pushes at Shiro’s arms until he sets him on the ground, “Then I will just have to do all the work tonight,” Keith leans up and gives him a peck on the cheek, grabbing his hand to pull him along behind him, “Don’t worry, pet. You did very well today, and you will receive your reward.”

.

Keith presses a cloth bag into Shiro’s hands, “Clean yourself out, then come back,” A hungry smirk, appraising eyes, undressing him with a look, “Don’t touch the blood. You look so much better in color.”

Keith leaves him alone in the bathroom, Shiro empties the bag. A strange oblong device, a little bottle of lube, and a data slate explaining the use of both. How thoughtful. The giggles wrong in his throat. Breathe.

He can do this, he’s done this before. Not since his capture, not since his cell. The Prince has been too impatient for anything more than his hands or mouth, but he’s done this for Keith before, with different tools in a different place. This isn’t new.

The instructions are simple, he follows with slow hands, flushes, repeats. He doesn’t hurry, but there is only so long he can drag the process out. Eventually he has to go back to the bedroom, back to Keith.

Shiro opens the door, enters the room. Keith is waiting for him, sprawled out on the mattress. His pants pulled down just far enough that his leaking dick can stand tall and proud. Keith watches him, hand slowly jacking off on full display. He hasn’t seen him like this lately. As far as Keith has been concerned, tending to his needs is what Shiro’s mouth is for, but not right now, no orders to fold to his knees leave Keith’s lips. He just plays with himself, little shuddery moans escaping here and there, while Shiro looks on. Another setting, he could have been seductive. 

Keith comes all over his hand with a gasp. Hardly an afterglow, before he’s wrinkling his nose at the mess, holding it out for Shiro, “Clean this off for me, will you pet?” Keith asks. Finally Shiro moves, sitting beside the Prince, taking his hand in his own. Obediently he begins. The briny taste sits disgustingly on his tongue. Lick, swallow, lick, until every finger is clean. A predator’s eyes watch him, preparing to tear him apart, “So good for me,” Keith praises, petting his hair, “Now strip and lay down, you won’t have to do anything else tonight.” Except pretend he doesn’t want to claw his own skin off. Pretend he wants him. Nothing more except that.

His clothes drop to the floor, Keith plasters himself to his back as soon as his shirt is off. Fingers running down his abs to trace one of the barely closed cuts from the beast. Why always his wounds? Shiro’s fingers don’t want to cooperate as he undoes his pants. Keith grows impatient, tears them off himself before pushing Shiro back on the bed, “Just relax, Takashi,” Keith says, kneeding the tense muscles of his stomach, “I’m going to take care of you.” Keith promises. He knows, that’s what he’s scared of.

A bottle of lube comes from somewhere, colorful label decorated with alien words. He’s drifting. He needs to stop, stay present. Keith will be mad if he doesn’t. A tap to his inner thigh, Shiro spreads his thighs. Rough cloth brushes between them. Keith settling. Pop, goes the lube bottle. The metal of the ceiling has imperfections, small ones barely noticeable. How odd, that a room belonging to a Prince would have flaws, “You’re so tense,” Keith says, too far away, Shiro comes backs, “Are you nervous?”

“Yes,” Shiro lies.

“Don’t worry,” Keith says, a kiss against his chest, “I know how to get you to relax.” A slick hand wraps around his dick, Shiro gasps. “After this you’ll be nice and loose for me.” He never touches him right, but he doesn’t need to. The warm wet channel of Keith’s hand is enough, Shiro’s hips thrust up on their own.

“Besides it’s only fair we both get to come before the fun really starts. Makes things last longer.” Keith whispers conspiratorially. Shiro can only moan, as Keith takes over the pace. Wringing pleasure from him, with a too tight touch. His own nails digging into his palms with pin point pain, something to ground, something to keep everything locked inside. Keith pushes and pushes, until he pushes him right off the edge. Shiro shudders, cries out as his cum splatters his stomach.

A haze, with Keith’s smile floating above him, “Feel better?” Keith asks. He can’t trust his own voice, so he just nods. It’s enough, “Good,” Keith says, “Now we can get started.” 

More lube drizzled on his fingers, reaching between his legs. Shiro squeezes his eyes shut, then throws them back open at the first breach. It doesn’t hurt. It wouldn’t. Keith wants him to enjoy himself. This would be so much easier if it hurt.

Keith takes his time. Works him open slowly on one finger. Stay relaxed. Don’t tense. Clenching will only slow things down. The faster he’s prepared, the sooner this will be over. Another is added.

Keith starts to explore, pressing against his walls as he stretches. Shiro’s breath stutters, Keith finds what he’s looking for. Little sparks of pleasure, too soon for his soft dick, but the Prince still notices, “There?” Keith asks. 

Shiro nods, and Keith pushes harder. Stop. He gasps against the sensation. Keith chuckles, “Still so sensitive.”

By the third finger, he’s recovered, twitching cock beginning to swell. No break, no relief. He’ll go until his captor is satisfied. Fingers slip free, leaving him open, an invitation he can’t revoke. 

“You know, I’d almost forgotten how much better it is to fuck you after a fight,” Keith explores his torn flesh with his tongue. Wet trail around barely scabbed wounds, leaving their cooling mark long after the owner is gone. 

“You’re so gorgeous and vicious, cutting down your enemies with ease, like the war gods of old.” What he did in the arena was nothing like a God of War. Enemy soldiers didn’t compare to scared prisoners, longing for stolen homes. 

“Makes me want to drag you down and wreck you. Pin all that muscle to the sands, and make you scream with pleasure until you’re hoarse.” Keith grabs Shiro’s hair to hold him still as he licks a stripe up his cheek through the drying alien blood. He can see it, in his mind’s eye. The spectators would watch and cheer, Keith would laugh, white teeth flashing. Steaming corpses close enough for him to gag.

“Mmm, fighting even makes you taste good.” Keith smacks his lips and sits back on his haunches. It’s time, no more delays, “You know pet. If I’m going to do all the work, you should have to do the talking.” Of course, his silence wouldn’t be permitted. Not for long. His part to play demands he participate. Keith slicks up his own cock and shoves a pillow under Shiro’s hips. 

“While I fuck you, you’re going to tell me a story, about how you got this scar,” He can’t be serious. This, this was supposed to be a reward. What mind thinks reliving his fights would be pleasurable, but there is no hesitation or question in his voice. Keith points to a broad slice from the top of his shoulder down across his collar bone. He remembers that one, the pain of receiving it. He’d thought he was going to die.

“Don’t look like that, pet,” Keith pats his cheek, “I know talking isn’t your strong point, but I won’t judge a bare bones story. Besides you can’t expect me to do everything, the least you can do is a bit of dirty talk.” He was. Keith was actually going to make him do this.

“Yes sir,” Shiro whispers, his voice so small a mouse could swallow it.

“Good,” Keith stares at him expectantly, waves his hand for Shiro to begin, “Go ahead pet, tell me of bloody conquest.”

Shiro licks his lips. Remember why he’s doing this. There are worse things than painful memories, “It was one of my early matches, before I lost my arm,” While he speaks, Keith pushes his legs further apart, the head of his dick running down Shiro’s perineum to press against his rim, “The guy I was fighting was big-Agh!” Keith pushes in, it hurts. Too much too fast, forcing Shiro to take him to the hilt in one long slide. No time to accommodate.

“Keep going,” Keith growls.

Don’t stop. Don’t make him mad. Just push through. The stretch burns, “He was big, and he had-ah,” Keith pulls back and thrusts in again, “a big sword. Oh,” Keith wraps his already slick hand around Shiro’s dick. Too much, too much everything, threatening to drag him under. 

“All they gave me was a, was a, fucking spear,” Fear had churned in his gut as he entered the arena. His opponent towered over even the guards, a monster carved of metal and flesh. His sword alone standing taller Shiro. A mouse against a cat, he was going to die, “The spear didn’t make it aaaa minute. He just reach-ah fuck,” Shiro’s whole body arches as Keith finds that spot. He hits it again on the next thrust and again and again. His hand jacking Shiro off harder and faster. Building. Too much, pleasure, fear. He wants to wretch. It’s all he can do to gasp in air.

“Did I say you could stop talking?” Keith gives a particularly harsh thrust, hurt to drag him back, “Keep telling your story Takashi. You had a spear.”

His story, keep speaking, “Spear, I had a spear, but he-ah-broke it. Wi-with one hand just snapped it.” Like a twig in a fist bigger than his head. He’d been given a toy, and he wasn’t going to make it. Never see home again, “He swung his sword at me. I barely got out of the way. I almost di-ah-died.” A twist and he is so close. Little drips of pre-cum dropping down to his stomach. Why does he have to be so easy for the Prince. Keith removes his hand before he comes. Good, bad, loss. Shiro’s shaking, crying out from being left so high.

“After,” Keith pants, patting this flank, “Keep going.”

Remember, just finish, “There was a boulder, I slipped behind it,” Keith’s thrusts are growing ragged, less precise, less sickening jolts of pleasure, easier to think, “I kept it between us until I could circle ba-ack for my weapon.” Keith digs his nails into Shiro’s hip and yelling. Bowing under the force of his orgasm. Sticky cum deep inside. It’s over.

It’s not. Keith’s hand wraps around his dick again. Dragging him over the cliff too. Pleasure spilling over his stomach, before dropping him into free fall. No after glow, just a panting sticky mess, used once more.

Keith rolls off him, catches his breath slowly, “So, how did you get the scar?” Keith asks.

“He dropped his sword on me when he died,” A lucky hit, jabbed deep into a chink of his armor. He’d collapsed where he stood. His sword toppling on top of Shiro, as he fell.

“Seriously?” Disbelieving, disappointed. His Prince is turned on by close calls and slaughter, not humiliating accidents.

“It was a big sword,” Shiro says. The guards had laughed as they dragged him to the medical wing. Champion too small to lift his opponent’s sword, they’d said. Keith sighs, rolling off the bed. Uses Shiro’s shirt to wipe himself clean of cum, before straighting his clothes.

“The rest of the night is yours to rest as you see fit, Champion,” Keith says, “Do with it as you please.” A final peck to his lips, maybe regret at having to leave, then Shiro is alone in the room.

Shiro walks to the bathroom. He empties his stomach.

.

Several more fights pass against increasingly bizarre and dangerous beast. Keith’s lust for him after each fight doesn’t abate, but he seems to be satisfied at having Shiro on his knees. He doesn’t request a repeat performance of the first night, not yet.

He also starts to grant rewards that Shiro actually enjoys. He’s allowed back into the observatory, and Keith has a small training room cleaned out for his use. He gives Shiro small gifts, things he’s always surprised to find out he likes.

Like this one, Keith’s brought a box full of round bread balls back to the room after Shiro’s most recent fight. The Prince is radiating excitement. Leaning close as Shiro pulls one of the balls out of the bag. Practically vibrating in his eagerness. Shiro sniffs, the smell is like nothing he knows. Neither off putting or appealing in its strangeness. 

Warily he takes a small bite. It’s good. It’s really good. Like a cupcake of some unknown flavor, sweet and warm. Shiro quickly pops the rest of the ball in his mouth, hoards the box close, lest it be taken. A silly thought, but there has been a persistent itch of anticipation since his fight, like he’s still waiting for the final blow.

Keith grins, triumphant, “See, I told you that you would enjoy them,” Keith says, “I know what you like.” He preens. Shiro nods, hunches as he eats another. Keith pats him on the shoulder and moves to his regular spot by the headboard. Pulling out his tablet to read whatever he reads on that thing.

That means he just wants to cuddle tonight. Where all he expects Shiro to do is act like an over sized cat. Curl up against Keith’s legs, until the Prince grows bored and leaves. This is as close to safe and cared for as he gets in this place, so why can’t he relax? His muscles have remained tight, since the last beasts death. A buzz like the bare edge of adrenalin running under his skin. He should be enjoying his reprieve, but instead he seeks danger in shadows.

He’s eaten a quarter of the box, when a ringing permeates the room. Someone wants permission to enter. He hardly ever hears the sound. Keith and the guards don’t care if he wants them inside or not. When he’s alone, anyone that wants him just walks in and drags him out. The door only rings when the Prince is inside with him. Keith’s underlings would never dare interrupt his time with his slave unannounced.

“Come in,” Keith calls.

The door opens, and a guard marches in. Shiny armor, hard clacking boots, coming closer, closer, stopping in front of him. He’s armed. Baton at the ready, to beat and break. Shiro tightens his grip on the box, muscles tensing. Guards and Keith, horrible things come from them. In this room, together, they mean pain. Being thrown to floor before being dragged to his cell.

The guard salutes, “Your guests have arrived, my Prince.”

“I see. Dismissed. Pet-” Shiro doesn’t hear the rest of Keith’s words. The guard is turning, meeting his eyes. One of his hands is moving towards him. He’s going to grab Shiro, hit him. Shiro moves first. Burning him open with the glowing purple heat of his arm. The guard reels back screaming. He won’t let him-

“TAKASHI!” Keith shouts. Shiro turns, Keith’s face is contorted with rage. No, no, no, don’t be angry with him.

There is a click and Shiro whirls around. The guard has drawn his rifle. Shiro splinters it in his hand. He grabs the guard by the front of the armor. One blow through the throat and the threat is gone.

“Put him down now!” Keith yells, and suddenly he’s by Shiro’s shoulder, so so furious. Shiro drops the guard and backs away. Keith follows him. He didn’t, the guard was coming for him. A fist coming for his face, crystal clear. He was protecting himself. Shiro’s back hits the wall. On the ground, a boot colliding with his ribs, no pain. He slides to his knees holding his head. He’s getting dizzy, breathing too fast. He doesn’t want to go back to his cell. Sizzling prod, burning flesh. There is a whining noise, high pitched, keening. It’s coming from him.

Crack, Shiro’s head snaps to the side. His cheek hurts with real pain, will probably bruise. He looks up. Keith’s back handed him, “Get a hold of yourself,” Keith spits.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro whimpers. Keith drags him up by his hair, another hit, his other cheek stings.

“You are the Champion,” Keith snarls, banging his head against the wall in emphasis, “This is not how you behave.” Keith isn’t angry anymore. He’s disgusted, as if Shiro was something foul he’d stepped in.

Keith let’s go of his hair and Shiro sinks back down, shaking. “Pick yourself up,” Him? No, the injured guard scrambles to his feet, “I will be back for you later.” Keith directs at him.

He’s left like that. Alone, shivering on the floor.

.

He doesn’t see Keith for the rest of the night. At some point he stands, grabs a pillow, a blanket, and cocoons himself in the shower stall. It’s the smallest most secure place he has access to. The most doors between him and the rest of the world in the suite, and not a single lock among them. The barrier won’t stop anyone for coming for him. Barging in, tearing him from his hiding place, but the comfort of the hard walls is enough that eventually a fitful sleep takes him away.

.

He’s still there when Keith comes for him. Multiple boots, he’s not alone, “Takashi!” Keith shouts. He’s still angry. Shiro scrambles out of his blankets and into the room proper, before Keith can find him and add to his list of offenses. It doesn’t matter. Keith takes one look at him and sneers. “Come, you are going to fight a criminal today,” Keith says.

“What?” Shiro takes an unintentional step back.

Keith notices the sign of weakness and his nostrils flare. He strides over to Shiro, grabs his shirt, drags him a stumbling forwards, “I’ve pandered to you far too much. Spoiled you soft,” Keith’s shorter but he’s looking down on him, “Made you weak, Champion, but no further. You will fight. You will kill.”

“I won’t,” He’ll go back to his cell first.

“That’s not a choice you get to make,” Keith snaps. He motions and three guards step forward.

Shiro tries to stop them, but they came prepared. A few shocks and gauntleted punches later, his wrists are locked behind his back. They haul him from the room. They aren’t taking him to his cell. He’s dragged down the path the chamber. The one where they make him fight animals. No.

The ring looks different from the last time he was here. The barriers have been pulled down. A clear pane separates the crowd from the combatants, and for once there is a crowd. No one is here without purpose, but Keith has posted a number of guards throughout the room. He won’t be breaking free.

Keith leaves to sit in a proper raised chair. A Prince’s seat, no casual view of a beloved slave. Shiro is guided to a hole in the wall and shoved through. There is a bang as the gate is closed behind him. Locking him in. The restraints fall off his arms with a click.

There are no exits. No way out unless he is let out. The other slave. Criminal, Keith said. Is standing across from him. He’s not the biggest Shiro has ever been forced to fight. He looks a bit like a crocodile raised up on two legs, biceps the size of Shiro’s thighs. He’s been given a club. Terrible weapon compared to Shiro’s arm. This isn’t a fair fight, not for the alien. He’ll die, unless Shiro can convince him to not go along with this.

There is no starting bell. His opponent just charges. Shiro side steps the blow. No time, dodge, get space to breathe. He has more experience. Swing after swing whiffs past him, allowing him to circle the other. Moving until his back is no longer to the wall. Then the first hit connects. A block against the metal of his arm, but it sends him stumbling back. His shoulder ringing. Nothings torn, but if he tries that too many times he’s going to lose use of that arm. Without his prosthetic, he’s as good as dead.

He can’t get enough space to talk. His opponent pushes without pause. Taking up all his spare breath to keep one step ahead of the crushing blows. He feels the air whoosh above his hair as he avoids a kill shot by a hair’s width. He’s never going to be able to talk this guy down. He’s not tiring out, not slowing for even a moment. The longer he delays the more close calls will come. If he doesn’t fight back, he’s going to die.

It’s a cold shift. Switching gears, goals. Letting himself drop into the mindset that keeps him alive. Shiro moves forward instead of back on the guy’s next attack. Slicing across the thing’s thigh, deep enough to slow. Good. A cheer rises from the watching guards, irrelevant. His next attack follows the first and would have gone up through the alien’s brain pan, if he hadn’t moved backwards at just the right time. The aliens gets away with a cut through the bone of his massive jaw. Extremely painful but not fatal. Shiro goes for his hand next, forcing him to let go of his club. The creature reacts with the rake of a clawed hand, but Shiro dances out of reach.

He circles his foe, deciding on the next route for his next strike. The creature turns with him letting out a roar, and Shiro charges before he can finish. He’s not stupid like the others. Shiro veers off to the side at the last second, avoiding the blow waiting for him and putting himself past his opponent. Shiro spins around and his opponent’s injured leg hampers him. He can’t turn fast enough to stop Shiro from getting a clear shot at his back. A single running blow and Shiro puts his hand through the back of the alien’s neck. Dead, sentients don’t fight without their heads.

The room breaks out in applause, just like every time before. Cold dissipates, survival finished. He comes back to himself, and wishes he’d stayed away. Shiro doesn’t panic. Even when the corpse falls off his hand with a sucking pop. He stands and waits for the guards to collect him.

They don’t recuff him. Somehow knowing that there isn’t any point, he won’t fight. He’s their pet monster. How could he have ever thought something different.

Keith wraps himself around Shiro as soon as he’s out of the ring. Smiling and touching, “See, things go so well when you do as your told,” Keith says, “I really should have done this sooner.” Shiro doesn’t respond.

Keith chatters the whole walk back. Shiro adds in a mechanical ‘Yes, my prince’ or ‘No, my prince’, when prompted, bu he doesn’t listen. He’s done it again. He’s killed someone who had no choice in the matter to preserve his own miserable life. Maybe that was why this was all happening. Keith had finally realized what a pathetic creature he was, and decided to treat him like one.

They enter his room, Keith presses him to sit down on the edge of his bed. He promises to be back in a moment with something that Shiro doesn’t catch the name of. Shiro nods vaguely, and when he’s left alone, stares down at his gore splattered hand. He has sensation in his prosthetic. As detailed and accurate as that in his flesh. He’d felt the bone give, almost melt against his hand. The liquid of the alien’s blood bubbling around his fingers at his super heated touch boiled him from the inside out. He activates his arm, lets the purple glow burn away the blood coating its surface. As if removing the evidence could make him forget. As if anything could make him forget.

Clatter, crash. Shiro looks up, Keith’s staring at him with wide wide eyes. “How could you,” Keith breathes, “Guards!” There is an explosions of movement, guards pouring through the door, “Take him to his cell,” Keith orders, pointing at him. Shiro doesn’t struggle as they pull him to his feet. He’s a murderer, he deserves this. Keith grabs his chin, pulls his face close, “I told you. You aren’t allowed to leave me.” Keith snarls, lets him go. The guards escort him out.

.  
.  
.

He doesn’t know how to make the pain stop. Keith won’t listen to him. The Prince has made him promise over and over not to leave, but every time he refuses to believe his words. Hurts him more, makes him promise again.

Keith’s caressing his tools, considering his next option for extracting the thing he won’t accept. There is the prod, brought back with little concern for Shiro’s health. A razor bladed knife, that cuts so clean he doesn’t even feel the pain until Keith digs his fingers in, and his lighter, with its small steady flame to hold against his flesh. Keith chooses the lighter. Not again, please not again.

Keith holds the flame under his flesh hand, lets the tongues lick up to burn his fingers. Shiro screams. Under the pain a tingling begins, it persists even as Keith pulls away. Growing in intensity, crawling up his limbs. He’s dying. His heart is giving out. Too much strain. Will he remember what it feels like this time? His vision’s blurring, sounds dissipating behind a roar in his ears. Keith is saying something, but he can’t understand. Everything goes white…

.

"Shiro! Shiro! No, please no," Keith's voice is panicked. Hands surprisingly gentle on his abused body. He must be worried he'd broken his favorite toy again. Shiro’d laugh, but he'd hurt himself more than he’d annoy his captor.

"Lance, get the healing pod ready! Hunk, help me move him!" Hunk? Lance? Why is Keith giving them orders? They aren't here. No one is here, yet the Blue and Yellow paladin’s answers are unmistakable. Darkness is comforting, promising safety if he only lets it drag him under once again, but confusion lures his eyes open. High arching ceilings, pale grey walls, and undertones of light blue. He blinks, but the mirage doesn't evaporate. Shiro is in the Castle of the Lions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, that was a lot of darkness, but it was necessary. The scenes coming up in the present wouldn't have felt right if they were interspersed with the things that happened to Shiro in this chapter.
> 
> Hopefully, you guys understand why Shiro was behaving the way he was when he first came back.
> 
> Also yeah, Alt!Keith doesn't understand being traumatized by combat. It's not a concept he associates with himself or people he likes. Trauma and strong warriors don't exist in the same person in his mind.


	12. The Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro vows to reforge his bond with Keith.

_“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Keith whispers. He’s trembling against Shiro. Too many emotions, suppressed for too long, “I shouldn’t be telling you this. You have your own problems. I’m so sorry.”_

_“Shhhh, it’s okay.” Shiro murmurs, gingerly petting Keith’s hair, “You didn’t do anything wrong. Everything is going to be okay.” Hesitantly, he presses a kiss to Keith’s temple. Keith cries harder._

.

Keith’s breakdown is a wake up call. His continued distance is hurting his boyfriend, and this Keith, this Keith hasn’t done anything to deserve this treatment. He’s hovered, but left when asked. Watched Shiro’s every move, but only to make sure he is okay. He deserves better, than a cold shoulder. Besides, he misses him. The easy warmth they used to share. The comfort and safety he used to find in his arms. He owes it to both of them to at least try and reforge the bond they’d made before his capture.

For his first attempt, Shiro tries the obvious. He asks the computer where Keith is and goes to say hi.

Keith’s alone in one of the many rooms in the Castle who’s purpose has been lost to time. Chairs and tables are scattered here and there, but the room’s centerpieces is a curved wall of floor to ceiling windows with an unobstructed view to open space. If you dimmed the lights and stood close to the pane, you could almost think you were standing among the stars.

Keith doesn’t notice Shiro entering, too caught up in the galaxy laid at his feet. Shiro doesn’t say anything, not yet. He hasn’t had an opportunity to just look since he came back. Keith’s beautiful. Black hair contrasting against pale skin, back lit by the light of a thousand far away suns. The other Keith, the one from the alternate universe, he’d been attractive too, with sharp features and flattering clothes, but there’s a difference between finding someone attractive and being attracted to them. The Prince’s cruelty hadn’t turned him ugly in Shiro’s eyes, how much easier would everything have been if things were that simple, but he’d lost something, some critical spark that made the leap to something more. Shiro had never felt the desire to just sit and observe the other Keith. Not like this, not like now.

“Do you need something, Shiro?” Keith asks, his eyes never leave the window. Shiro cheeks flush. How long had Keith known he was being watched?

“I just wanted to talk,” Shiro says, walking closer to stand by Keith’s side. The Castle is passing a nebula right now, all vibrant reds and pinks. The scene is breathtaking. What would his younger self have thought, if he knew some day he could see something like this anytime he wanted.

“Is something wrong?” Keith turns away from the view. Eyebrows knitting together in concern.

Shiro smiles, reassuring, “Nothings wrong, it’s just been a while since we had a chance to just talk,” Shiro says. He doesn’t match Keith’s move. Watching the younger man’s reflection gives him some much needed distance. Everything a little easier when he doesn’t have to make eye contact, “I’ve kind of missed it. Haven’t you?”

“Oh, I guess,” The knot between his brows eases. Keith’s still concerned about him, but he’s no longer preparing for immediate intervention, “What do you want to talk about?”

“Ummm, well,” Right, subject matter, seems there is a fatal flaw in his plan, “What do you want to talk about?”

Keith face screws up for a second, then he snorts, “Takashi, did you just come here to try and make me feel better?” Keith’s voice is warm with held back laughter. Always so easily amused by Shiro’s social schemes gone awry.

Arms wrap around Shiro, a sharp chin digs into his shoulder. Cold sweeps through him, “You big dork, I’m fine,” The word’s only half register, there is an echo in his ears. The same voice, different words. Stars in front of his eyes, Keith wants him to fight slaves.

The arms around him go lax, let go, “Shiro?” Worry, for him. He’s fine. There’s nothing wrong. This isn’t the same. The observatories lights are dim, Keith says he will fight.

“Shiro, breathe,” He can’t. Don’t make him. He doesn’t want to. Shiro closes his eyes, presses his forehead against the cold glass. He’s leaving smudges.

“You’re okay,” He’s not, “You’re safe,” Just a memory, “You’re in the Castle of the Lions.” Not surrounded by dark metal, no purple glow, not somewhere else. Not with him.

“Come on Shiro, breathe for me,” Keith is calm, steady, kind. Something to hold onto. Shiro takes a shuddery breath in. It hurts, like trying to force something past a closed throat, “There you go. Inhale, now exhale, slowly, slowly Shiro. That’s it. You’re doing so good.” Keith’s voice guides him. In then out, in then out. The other place fades. There is just the cold touch of the window against his skin and the distant sound of the Castle’s life support.

Shiro’s on his knees. He stands back up. Straightens his sleeves.

“Are you okay?” Keith still there, close but not touching.

“Yes,” Shiro says, “I’m going to go.” He’s back, but untethered. This isn’t a good emotional state to be around Keith.

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Keith says, stepping back giving him more room, “Hey, before you go, thanks.”

“For what?” What about this debacle could Keith possibly be thankful for?

“For coming to see me. It means a lot,” Keith’s voice is so sincere it hurts. Shiro has to look away, nodding stiffly. He’s a mess. Keith shouldn’t be thankful for his scraps, but he is, always is. What is he supposed to do?

.

That had been a disaster, but he didn’t become the top pilot of his generation by quitting the first time things went south. He was going to try again. The next day, when Keith finishes breakfast, Shiro dumps his plate and follows him out.

He doesn’t get a chance to look this time. Keith sees him, and despite looking a little surprised, slows down so Shiro can catch up, “Hey,” Keith says.

“Hey,” Shiro says. Just spit it out and they can move on, “I wanted to tell you. I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t..didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine,” Keith says, having mercy on him, “I get it. You don’t have to apologize.” Have and should are two very different things.

“Still-”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Keith stops, pinning Shiro with a glare.

Shiro puts up his hands in surrender. He knows when he’s beat, “Okay, okay, I’m not sorry,”

Keith nods in approval, then starts walking again.

“So,” Shiro starts again, “Where are you headed?”

“Training deck,” Not surprising, the Castle’s entertainment options can be pretty limited at times.

“Mind if join?” Shiro asks. They’d first bonded over sparring back in the Garrison. The gym was nearly single handedly responsible for him worming his way past the walls Keith used to keep everyone at arms distance. Maybe it could do the same in reverse.

“Of course you can,” Keith is looking at him, his nose all scrunched up like he’s trying to figure out Shiro’s game, “You don’t have to ask.”

Shiro opens his mouth to respond, “Shiro!” Allura’s shouts. The Altean princess is striding down the hall, clearly on a mission. Whatever she wants must be time sensitive, “The Blade of Mamora wishes to talk. I need you on the bridge.”

Allura’s issues with the Galra rebellion, had eased the more they worked together, but part of being a leader of a coalition was recognizing your weaknesses. She always brought a neutral party into her negotiations with the Blade, “I have to go help with this,” Shiro says, apologetically.

“Go, it’s not like me being in the training room is a rare opportunity,” Keith says, giving Shiro a little shove towards Allura, “You can join me some other time.” Keith smiles and the world brightens with him.

Shiro smiles back, “I will,” He promises.

.

Talking with the Blades gains them a lead on one of Lotor’s schemes to solidify control of his Father’s Empire. They chase him and his generals through half a dozen star systems, with pitched battles on barren planets, and deadly cat and mouse games through silent asteroid fields. There are too many close calls, but the mission, the goals, help Shiro keep his head on straight. Push the past away, while he focuses on being the leader his team needs. He doesn’t falter once, and victory comes with a glorious explosion, sending Lotor slinking off to lick to his wounds.

All in all, disrupting the plan takes days, and Shiro doesn’t speak to Keith once outside their roles of team leader and second in command. He can’t keep letting this slip to the wayside whenever something happens. If he’s going to fix things, he needs to do better.

This time he makes sure nothing can go wrong. No spontaneity, he plans ahead of time, lets Allura know he’s busy. He makes himself sleep the night before, meditates to calm his nerves, and only then invites Keith down over the comms.

He waits for Keith on one of the less used training decks. He’s wanted something that is face to face and simple. Simple for him and Keith has always been stargazing, piloting, or sparring. Stargazing is out after the incident with the dim lights and window. Piloting in the same ship or lion involved being locked in a tiny metal box with no quick way out, didn’t seem like the best idea considering the state of his head recently. That leaves sparring. Friendly, by the official rules, sparring. Where the worst that happens is someone gets a busted lip or a couple bruises. He can do this.

Waiting for Keith to arrive undoes all the good meditating did him. His stomach is a mess of butterflies. What if he has another panic attack? What if their relationship can’t be salvaged? Maybe he’s finally too broken to be with Keith. His hind brain certainly thinks so, little whispers of danger. He should prepare something bad is coming. No just Keith, his Keith. No danger. The doors open. Shiro shoves those thoughts to the side as Keith enters. Concentrate on the here and now.

Keith looks better than he did. There are still dark circles under his eyes, fighting Lotor never left enough time to rest, but he no longer looks likes he’s about to pass out on his feet. That’s good. Maybe crying out his emotions, telling Shiro about his nightmares, helped him, or maybe like himself, the mission kept Keith too busy to think of anything else.

“So I thought, maybe you’d like to spar. A few rounds, no weapons, might be fun?” Shiro asks, before he can over think things further and psyche himself out, “If you’re up to it?”

Keith raises an eyebrow, “Seriously?”

Shiro hopes his smile comes across as winning, or at least please take pity on me I’m trying.

Keith returns his smile with a fond shake of his head. Success! Keith strips out of his jacket and blade, tossing them to the side, before walking out to join Shiro in the middle of the room. He slips into a ready stance, “Ready old man?” Keith asks, smirking.

“Hey, I’m not tha-” Keith lands the first punch.

Shiro scores the next three, and the match goes just about as well as could be expected. Keith is a compulsive trainer, if he could have a bed in the training room he’d probably never leave, but Shiro has more hands on experience in life or death scraps than any person should. Shiro wins four out of seven rounds, and Keith makes him pay for every moment of hubris.

His bruises have bruises, but the laughter comes easy. Adrenalin lifts him up for competition and excitement. Nothing of value is on the line, no blood is spilled. They part happier than Shiro’s been for a long time. His gut doesn’t even twist, when Keith offers for the same time tomorrow. This is how things should feel.

.

Same time tomorrow turns into same time every day. It’s not that odd. They’ve been sparring partners for nearly as long as they’ve known each other, and with no other major meltdowns on Shiro’s part, at least not in the training deck, there isn’t a reason not to reestablish a routine they both enjoy.

They’ve just finished a session, panting and drinking water in amiable silence. They’ll both go their separate ways soon, but for now there is nothing pressing and his thoughts can wander. The Castle has reestablished it’s rhythm since his return. If Slav wasn’t still here, there wouldn’t be any signs that he ever left. No one even mentions the time he was gone, seemingly trying to forget the period ever happened. Had Keith even take over the Black Lion like he’d asked? 

“Why are you staring at me?” Keith asks. Shiro startles. His eyes had wandered without his permission. How long had he been looking before Keith said something?

“You’re cute,” He says, distracting from his own embarrassment. Keith’s flush is just an added bonus, “Also, wondering how Black treated you while I was gone.” 

Keith ducks his head, hiding his red cheeks from view. He’s adorable. Still shy about compliments, after all this time, “Fine,” Keith mumbles.

“Just fine, no details?” Shiro pokes Keith in the ribs. There’s a little spot right between them, that never fails to make Keith giggle and squirm.

Keith squeaks, grabbing Shiro’s finger in a death grip. Keith gets his knees between them, guarding his soft spots from Shiro’s wiggling fingers. Tickle fights had always been weighted in Shiro’s favor. Keith didn’t have uncles to pin him down and tickle him until he squealed as a child, so he’d made it all the way to adulthood without building up a resistance. Shiro is working on fixing that, “What do you want?” Keith growls, trying to look fierce and annoyed, but a smile keeps break through.

“Details on how my second in command did in the big chair,” Shiro says, grinning. He holds up his free hand threatening more tickles. Keith tries to bat it away but Shiro just pushes closer. Crowding past his defenses.

“Things went fine. I don’t know what you want to hear. Black let me pilot her until we found out where you were, but it’s not like it mattered. We only had four pilots, so we couldn’t form Voltron or anything.” Keith says with a huff, his eyes avoiding Shiro’s.

Shiro bumps Keith’s forehead with his own, waits until his purple meets Shiro’s grey, “Team listen to you?” He prompts.

“Yeah,” Keith sounds a little out of breath, “Everyone listened just fine. Even Lance, Pidge said it was because I looked like I wanted to bite someones head off. That’s never stopped him before though, so I don’t know why.” Keith’s pretty eyes have gone wide, pupils dilating. Shiro’s leaning over the smaller paladin, so close Keith’s breath mingles with his own. An inch and he’d feel Keith’s lips. There hasn’t been this little space between them outside of a spar since before…

Shiro casually moves away, reaching for his water bottle, “That’s good. Told you, you’d make a good leader.” Shiro takes a few gulps, then stands up, “Same time tomorrow?” He asks.

Keith’s staring at him, like he wants to pull Shiro back down to the floor, but he just nods his head, “See you tomorrow.”

-

Spending one on one time with Keith is good but not enough. Their distance reaches more things than just in private. Even the others notice. Hunk asks why he and Keith no longer sit next to each other during meals. Pidge keeps giving him meaningful looks when he walks into a room and doesn’t walk over to Keith. So he forces what used to be second nature. He stands beside Keith during briefings. Pats his shoulder when he does well during training.

His motions are stiff, more awkward than they’ve ever been before. Several times he has to back off, walk away and give himself room to breathe until his rational side an reassert itself, but little by there is progress.

Pidge organizes another movie night. By popular vote, Allura selects the film from the Castle archives to watch. Shiro finds a spot on the couch between Hunk and Coran to settle. Much to Lance’s disappointment, Keith claims the spot beside the Princess on the far end of the couch. Snacks are passed out and the movie begins.

Turns out, by earth standards, all Altean films are horrible. Filled with references Shiro doesn’t understand and humor that’s either word play in a long dead language or so bizarre as to be incomprehensible. Also, Allura is a fan of epics. Pidge and Lance are both passed out by the time the thing finally ends.

Despite his utter boredom, Shiro isn’t the least tired. He only waves as the three youngest paladins and the Alteans trudge off to bed. The door shuts, and he’s alone with Keith in the common room. Keith should be following the others to bed, catch up on the sleep debt he’s stubbornly carrying around, but his performance hasn’t been suffering as of late. If Shiro tries to shoo him off the bed, Keith won’t hesitate to point out the hypocrisy of Shiro refusing to go to his own. No other options then, “Want to watch another?” Shiro asks.

“Of this series?” Keith’s nose wrinkles with obvious distaste. Allura had eagerly informed them the movie was a classic, and spawned over six sequels, all just as fascinating as the first.

“I was thinking more along the lines of letting you try your hand at finding something interesting,” Shiro says, tossing the remote to Keith. Whatever he picks can’t possibly be worse than what they just watched.

“That’s dangerous. My tastes are campy remember,” Keith smiles mischievously. They were pretty bad. Shiro used to tease him relentlessly about cheesy movies. That hadn’t stopped him from curling up with Keith on the couch to watch Killer Clowns from Outer Space.

“I trust you, besides even the worst cheese would be better than whatever it is we just finished.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Keith starts clicks open the option screen, beginning his quest through the database.

Keith pulls up his legs, as he concentrates far harder than picking the way to waste their next hour or two deserves. There is so much space between them. When the couch was full with snoring teammates, everything looked fine, but now their deliberate position on opposite ends of the long couch is glaringly obvious. They look like one of those divorced couples, who are only in the same room to fight over custody for the dog. This is silly. He feels pretty good tonight, he doesn’t need five feet of buffer space, “You can sit closer if you want,” Shiro says, patting beside him when Keith looks up, “You don’t have to stay all the way over there.” 

Keith cocks his head, assessing, “You sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Because he never does, he doesn’t push Shiro. Monitors his boundaries like a hawk, in case he might cross a line. He’s too good for him.

“I wouldn’t offer if it would,” Shiro replies. Keith seems to accept that answer and crawls over. He settles a couple hand widths away from Shiro. Not cuddled up to him like they used to, but close enough Shiro could rest his hand on Keith’s thigh if he wanted. He keeps his hands to himself.

The movie Keith settles on is better than the one Allura chose, but only in the so bad it’s good sort of way. The characters and plot are the kind of stupid that go a thousand times better with a riff trax, and he and Keith are up to the challenge. During one particularly poorly written scene, they end up just muting the film and making their own dialog. Shiro laughs until his sides hurt, then laughs some more. The film ends, and Shiro isn’t ready to leave. Not when he feels so good and happy. Keith find a sequel, and he doesn’t have to. Tonight is terrible movie night for just the two of them.

Sometime during the sequel’s second act, Keith decides that Shiro and the main character are obviously two peas in a pod, and well, he just can’t let that stand. Keith earned that noogie all on his own, and if, when he’s done, Keith stays under Shiro’s arm, well he’s the one who put distance between them in the first place. He can take it back if he wants to.

He’s tired by the time the second movie ends, Keith is stifling back yawns, going soft against his side. If he left now, he could sleep, maybe even rest well, but the only thing waiting for him in his room is a cold lonely mattress. He’s not ready to leave the warmth of their movie night for that just yet. He turns on the third movie in the series and Keith snuggles closers.

Bzzip, Shiro’s eyes flutter open. The common room is quiet and dim. The monitor power light flashes once, then completes its deactivation. He must have fallen asleep. He’d been watching a talking scene, not even in the second half of the film, then nothing more. The room is safe, lit just enough to see everything, but not enough to dampen the sweet call from his dreams, luring him back to slumber.

A small snort, a second person is breathing, chest rising and falling against his own. At some point, Keith crawled into his lap cushioning his head against Shiro’s shoulder. Had he done that consciously? Keith wriggles in his sleep, he might have just squirmed to the best position to absorb Shiro’s heat without waking. Really shouldn’t have been a surprise he was related to the Galra, he loves his warm spots like any other cat.

Shiro runs his fingers through Keith’s soft hair. He doesn’t move, dead to the world. Shiro should probably wake him. Send them both off to their respective rooms for a good night sleep. Sitting upright on the couch isn’t the best for either of their backs, but he’s comfortable and so warm. How long has it been since he had both those things? Just for a night, even if it’s only for a little while, he deserves to enjoy this one thing. Shiro closes his eyes and drifts back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything should be in the present from here on out. 
> 
> Hope ya'll enjoyed the chapter of healing. Things kick off again next chapter.


	13. Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's happening again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 14 is already done and I’ll post it tomorrow before I drive up to Oklahoma to visit my father. I’m working on Part 15 today and it should be ready for posting on Saturday. 
> 
> Part 15 is the last of the rewrite chapter, after that will be all new content. That means those chapters are going to have to be written from scratch and will take longer to complete. I’m visiting my father, but when I have spare time I’ll work on Part 16 and hopefully it will be going up sometime next week. If I remember my outline right this fic is either 17 or 18 parts long, so we are very close to the end.

Some sense of normalcy has finally returned to Shiro’s life. He can’t yet welcome Keith back to his bed, but outside the security of his room, he lets his lover in piece by piece. If things were to stay as they are, someday he might be able to go all the way. Bury the memories of his time in the alternate dimension in the deepest darkest corners of his mind, reserved for all things so much better forgotten, and build something new to cover it. Not a fresh start, but close enough. Of course, the tentative peace cannot last.

Keith is sparring with him. Hell or high water every day they meet for at least one round. Routine is so hard to find in the chaos of the Castle, he going to hold onto this one with everything he has. Keith’s flat to the floor, arms twisted in a hold he won’t be able to break. Now it’s just a matter of waiting out his struggles and eventual concession. There is a tell tale crackle of the Castle’s ancient speaker systems coming to life, “Shiro, please come to Slav’s laboratory immediately. Time is of the essence,” Allura’s tinny voice rings out.

Shiro let’s Keith go. Grabs his vest on the way out the door. He doesn’t take off his shirt outside his room, even before, even in front of Keith who has seen it all. The vest is the only concession to the heat he is willing to make, and he’ll put that on while he walks.

Keith materializes by his side, “Moral support,” Keith says with a smile. He must have keyed into Shiro’s, not very well hidden to be honest, distaste for being stuck in a conversation with Slav. Well, not like he was going to turn away any offered buffer between the eccentric alien and himself. His stress levels are high enough as it is.

The lab is one of many that lays abandoned in the Castle, only differentiating itself through the lack of dust and actively humming equipment from recent activity. Allura and Slav are both waiting when they enter, as is an oddly quiet Lance. Today is the Blue Paladin’s turn on the lab assistant schedule, one Shiro has been wisely exempt from since returning.

“Ah good you are here!” Slav rears up in front of Shiro, sending his heart into his throat and nearly ending in Slav losing his head. Not that that slows him even for a second, “Good, good, we may begin.” He scurries away to climb on top of a chair with far too many wires attached. It looks like something Haggar would cook up to pick through someones brain, “Sit down, we must hurry. Every tick we delay reduces our chances of success by .003 percent.”

Shiro looks to Allura, surely she knows what’s going on. He’d like some idea before sitting down in something that looks two seconds away from electrocuting someone, “Earlier Slav detected signals from what seemed to be another dimension,” Allura explains, gesturing towards a screen full of pictures and Altean symbols that clarifies absolutely nothing, “Upon further investigation he found that they originated from the dimension we rescued you from.” Ice trickles down his spine, “We think they might be searching for you,” Allura’s next words echo in his skull, “They may be trying to get you back.”

Get you back. There’s more, but he can’t hear it. His captor is searching for him. Reaching across the barrier between dimensions, to take him back. To lock him in his ice cold cell, run his fingers across his skin. He can’t, he can’t live through that again.

“Shiro!” Shiro opens his eyes. When did he close them? Keith is standing in front of him. Red jacket, not his captor. Pull it together, he can’t let the others see him like this, “Shiro you need to sit in the chair. You aren’t going back.” Keith says achingly soft, like Shiro might shatter with the wrong tone. Keith herds him, without touching, to the device Slav has rigged up. No restraints are activated, nothing is even attached to him, but his gut still churns. Machines, surrounding him, attached to his skin, there are always machines. Keith takes a step back.

“What does this do?” He asks, voice hoarse, trying to re-engage himself with the moment he’s in.

“It’s going to lock you into our dimension.” Keith says. His relief is hidden poorly. Shiro’s panic must make him feel helpless, Keith never did like feeling helpless, “Slav explained how it works, but it went over my head. All you need to know, is no one will be able to take you again after this is through.” The words aren’t just for him. Keith is reassuring himself as well.

Shiro nods his understanding. The machines hum, powering up, building energy. Keith is the only one with him. Everyone else has gathered around the controls, reading over Slav’s shoulder while he works. None of them can do anything but trust in the scientist’s many hands. They are all out of their depths.

Slav throws a lever and a low level buzzing emanates from the chair. There is a tingling in his toes and fingers. The machine must be doing something to him, “Hey guys,” Lance sounds worried, “Can we hurry this up. That signal from the other guys is getting really strong all of the sudden.” What does that mean?

The tingling starts to crawl up his arms and legs. Shiro chokes, breath stuck in his throat. The feeling. It’s not the machine. It’s the same as before, when he was rescued, when he was kidnapped. He’s going back. His captor is pulling him away again. He digs his fingers into the chair, metal bending under his right. Like he could somehow physically hold onto this dimension, force his rapidly disappearing sense of touch to stay. Keith will be so angry. He promised not to leave. He’s going to die in that cell.

Incoherent voices are shouting, his vision slowly whites out. Like someone is turning up the bloom on the world until he can’t make out what’s around him. His skin prickling like its covered in ants. Then…

Arms around him. Red jacket. Keith is hugging him. “You’re safe. We stopped them,” Keith words are muffled against his neck. Holding on for all he’s worth. No guards, no shock batons, the only purple in the room is Allura’s earrings. He’s, he’s still on the Castle of the Lions. His captor didn’t take him. 

Keith lets him go, walks away. The set of his shoulders betraying his attempts to regain his composure.

“Dude, what was that about?” Every head swivels to look at Lance, “You’re awesome and all, but not that awesome. Why do these guys want you so bad?” 

“It does seem exceedingly odd. In 97 percent of known universes kidnapping the Black Paladin from another universe is not worth the effort,” Slav adds. All eyes turn to Shiro, waiting. Things don’t add up, not from what he’s told them, they want an explanation.

“I-I don’t know why,” Shiro lies. He can’t tell them. They’d never look at him the same way again.

“Shiro,” Allura too, everyone pressing in demanding to know more, “I understand if you don’t wish to discuss all the grisly details, but trying to take you not once but twice, makes the interests of this other dimension important information. Slav and I, need to know at least.” They won’t stop, not until they have an explanation they believe.

“It was the Galra.” Truth “I was a gladiator, just like before.” Partial truth, “I don’t know why they want me back so badly,” Lie. He should be ashamed of how easily he looks the Princess in the eye and lies to her face, but knowing what his captor wants wouldn’t help her. Wouldn’t change the measures to prevent him from being taken again. Knowing what he had to do, would just make things worse for them all. Maybe she’ll accept this much. His memory problems are infamous. They could believe the arena took this time too.

Allura sighs, “Okay, I believe you.” She says, and the eyes finally stop looking. Turning back to their screens and data.

Shiro nods. Wobbles to his feet and leaves the room. Keith follows him out, but no one tries to stop him.

.

He wanders aimlessly through the Castle with Keith by his side. They don’t speak. He doesn’t have the words, but the tension is there every time Keith looks at him. Questions, emotions, building behind his eyes. A small storm brewing, “Why are you lying?” Keith asks, quieter than expected.

“I’m not,” Denial is automatic, thoughtless self-protection.

“Don’t bullshit me,” Keith says, and there is the expected frustration. Keith move in front of him. Physically bars Shiro from walking further, leaving this conversation behind. Forcing him to look into Keith’s upset eyes.

“You can lie to Allura and Lance and all the others, but don’t lie to me.” Hurt, Keith’s hurt. His eyes have the same almost wet look to them as when he confessed his nightmares.

“Why are you cutting me out? You used to be able to talk to me, or at least tell me when you couldn’t.” Because the truth would break him. Keith wasn’t like Shiro or his captor, he hadn’t committed any great sins worthy of punishment. He didn’t deserve to carry the guilt for things he never did, but he didn’t believe Shiro’s story. He wouldn’t accept the same line he’d given the others.

Half-truths, for Keith, he had to give more half-truths, “I was captured by the Galra, and they did make me fight. Not in the arena, but for their entertainment.” Keith’s eyes are still searching his face, watching him for more falsehoods.

“But that’s not why they want you back,” Keith prods.

Even a half truth is enough truth for Shiro to cut himself on, “No, that’s not why,” Shiro admits. He doesn’t want to say more, but he needs to.

“Takashi-” Shiro flinches, and Keith cuts off mid-sentence.

“Don’t call me that,” Shiro whispers, avoiding the concern in Keith eyes. Keith doesn’t try to touch him. He’d told him he didn’t like to be touched and he’d listened, because that’s what Keith does, he listens to Shiro. Doesn’t hurt him willingly, always tries to make sure he’s okay. 

“My captor always called me that,” Shiro continues. No names, but he can share some. Just enough for Keith to understand, “I think that was the only name he knew,” Or maybe he hadn’t cared. He hadn’t cared about anything else to do with who Shiro was. 

“He…I think-I think there used to be another me in the other dimension, and he died.” Keith is quiet, listening to him speak at his own stumbling pace. The words come easier, “My captor, I think, he wanted me to replace him. To be his Shiro.” The remaking scars, the talk of old times that never happened, very little else make sense.

How can he say the next part. He barely wants to remember what happened, “I don’t know if his Shiro was his…” He can’t say the word, “But I wasn’t willing. To his-to the things he did…I didn’t want it.” Shiro squeezes his eyes shut. He needs Keith to understand without him having to say it.

“Who was it?” Shiro opens his eyes. Keith’s clenched fist are trembling, teeth gritted. Rage in the lines of his face, “I’ll kill him.” Keith promises in a harsh whisper. He would, if given half a chance. Keith would kill his captor for him, for everything he did.

He’s not you, “You’ll never meet him.” Shiro says instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The attempted kidnapping was one of the more emotional scenes in the original fic, but the way I did the descriptions didn't fit with how I've rewritten thing, so I had to make quite a few changes. Hopefully the impact is still there.
> 
> By the way, can anyone think of anymore nice tags to put on this fic? The stuff in the early chapters has to all be tagged, but having so many dark tags without lighter tags gives the impression that there isn't any comfort and hope to balance out the hurt.


	14. Incoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He only gets two days.

Two days, he only gets two more day.

It happens during their daily spar. Keith is in fine form. Flitting in then out before Shiro can retaliate. If Shiro can just get his hands on him, he can over power Keith and this round will be over, but Keith knows that as well as he does. He has no intentions of staying in one place long enough for Shiro to grapple him to the mats.

Feedback shrieks through the Castle speakers, “In…ming,” Slavs voice crackles on and off. Shiro’s looks at the speakers, that’s the only thing that saves his eyes. A blinding flash fills the room. Even looking away black spots dance in front of him. Shiro blinks, tries to clear his vision. Still blurry, but good enough to see Keith doing the same.

Shiro looks back to where the flash originated. The lights gone. Seven heavily armed figured stand in the midst of crackling black lightening. Six Galra guards, not drones, fully equipped for battle. Their flanking a single smaller figure. Pale skin, black hair, cruel eyes. His captor is in the Castle of the Lions.

Shiro limbs freeze can’t move. His captor is here, standing in front of him in full battle armor. The kind he’d only seen when he’d come to Shiro after attending to his other duties. This has to be a dream, a nightmare, this can’t be happening. He was supposed to be safe from him here.

“Takashi,” His captor’s voice rings in his ears. Delight, excitement, he’s smiling, stepping towards him. Shiro stumbles back. His legs don’t want to listen, wants to crumple to the ground and scream. He can’t be here. He can’t. He can’t! Black cloth, Keith, no armor, bayard raised. He’s standing in front of Shiro. Back to him, facing his captor, protecting him. When did he move?

“Stay where you are, come any closer and I’ll gut you,” Keith snarls, red energy forming his blade.

His captor attention is torn from him, assessing, but not coming any closer. The Prince frowns, annoyed, “I doubt you’d succeed,” He says. He looks carefully between Shiro and Keith for a moment, then snaps his fingers, “Kill the double, capture the Champion alive.” His guards jump to obey

Their guns lift taking aim at his Keith. Kill the double. Shiro moves. Capture the Champion alive. He grabs Keith, pulls him to his chest, spinning them around. He’s bigger, broader. They’ll have to shoot through him to hit Keith. A single shot sizzles across the top of his shoulder. A glancing hit, not even enough to incapacitate. Pain barely worth noting. The guard must have jerked at the last second, realized how close he came to killing the Prince’s toy. No fate could be worse than that.

“Rifles down idiots! You risk his life, and I’ll have you flayed!” His captor shouts. Unnecessary, they aren’t fools, they weren’t going to shoot him. Shiro lets Keith go, turning and activating his arm in one movement. Kill. He’s going to kill them all. They won’t stop. Never stop. Splatter their blood on the walls until he’s safe again.

The guards are switching weapons, dropping rifles for shock batons. Precious time lost. Shiro lunges. His captor avoids the first strike towards his face, and the second at his gut barely glazes the armor. There isn’t time for a third. The guard to his captor’s right freeing his baton and aiming down at Shiro’s chest. He breaks the man’s arm for trying. A swift blow to the Galra’s head, he will never stand back up.

The others are joining the fight now. Jumping to defend their Prince and capture his prize. One goes for Shiro’s exposed back, but a blade slices across his middle. Keith is there, behind Shiro. Covering his blind spots.

Back to back, two more guards fall, but the Prince stays stubbornly out of reach. Darting in to take swipes with his own sword, but never staying long enough for Shiro to fully engage.

The side of one of the two remaining guard’s heads explodes outwards, the other has a dozen holes materialize. Lance and Hunks cheer as their shots hit. The others have arrived. Pidge runs past them both, straight towards the Prince. He quick, deadly smart, but has obviously never seen a weapon like the Green Paladin’s before. He tries to block her attack with his metal sword. The extended shock leaves him on the ground, not dead, but no longer conscious.

Pidge is whirling around, hugging Shiro nearly faster than he can deactivate his arm. Too fast, to much too fast, “Are you two alright?” Pidge asks, letting him go.

Pull your head together Shirogane, fights over, be the leader of Voltron, “We’re fine,” Shiro says.

“Mullet, since when do you have a clone?” Lance asks. He’s standing over the Prince’s prone form, rolling him over with his boot.

“I don’t think I do,” Keith says, walking over to peer down at his alternate self. He kneels to get a closer look, before glancing back up at Shiro, “Is this him. The one who kidnapped you?” Keith asks. Too much meaning in that question.

Shiro can’t answer him, not with what’s implied, not in front of the others, “Hunk, get something to secure him with. Lance find out if the Castle has holding cells. I’ll contact Allura. Meet me on the bridge when you’re done. We’ll decide what to do from there.” Everyone jumps to obey his orders.

-

“We should space him.” Keith’s suggestion is barely above a whisper, but everyone hears him all the same. Do the others think he’s just being coldly pragmatic like normal, or have they seen the way he’s been glaring holes into the floor, willing his alternates death into being with his mind alone.

“We don’t kill unarmed prisoners!” Allura says, anger flaring to life at the mere suggestion. The ideals of Voltron, a force of pure good without grey, is the only thing that keeps her going some days. She can’t react any other way.

“He’s a monster!” Keith shouts, taking an aggressive step forward. The situation is escalating, “He doesn’t deserve to live!” Keith turns to Shiro, he’s been left alone until now. Allowed to be quiet in the debate on his captor’s fate. While they rile each other up and argue in circles, “Shiro, you agree with me, right? He needs to die.” Keith says, almost a plea.

Shiro looks away from him, out into the room, at the others looking to him for guidance, “I’m with Allura.” Shiro says softly, “We don’t murder people in cold blood, Keith.” He can’t let the desire for revenge win. He needs to be an example. After what he did to thir important prisoner, he can’t risk setting any more bad precedent. The reprimand is mild, but Keith’s mouth hangs open in shock. He recovers himself, snaps it shut and turns away, without saying more.

“Not that I’m agreeing with the cold blooded murder plan, but what do we do with the guy?” Lance pipes up, “Give him a cup of tea and ask him to please stop trying to kidnap our leader?”

“There are planets we have saved with prisons. We can ask one of them to hold him for us.” Allura says, turning to her controls to pull up possibilities.

“That’s all well and good, but the guy looked kind of important. Shiro you said he was a Prince right?” Hunk asks. Shiro nods. He hadn’t been able to keep things a secret anymore. He had to tell them who his captor was if still withholding some details. Only Keith knew he left out more than he said, “Won’t his buddies come here to try and rescue him?”

A decision needs to be made. The groups spinning their wheels, a plan needs to be chosen with and stuck with. They can come up with solutions as they go, “Pidge, when you stripped him, you said you found a device you thought might have to do with how he got here.” He doesn’t wait for her to confirm, “Take it down to Slav’s lab and see if you can work out someway to prevent others from following him. At least onto the Castle of the Lions and wherever we end up imprisoning him.” 

He turns to the Princess, “Allura, you can question him when he wakes on if anybody else is coming.” He should do it himself. Help preserve the secret of what happened, but the idea of being in a cell with his captor again makes his gut churn. He’ll just have to hope the Prince doesn’t feel like sharing.

There is more bickering. More details hashed out, but they have a plan and that is enough.

-

Keith catches him in the elevator. The shorter man slams the emergency stop as soon as they are between floors, trapping him, “You should have told me,” Keith says, his shoulders are trembling. Repressed anger, fear, tears? He can’t tell.

“Turn it back on Keith.” A quiet order but an order none the less. An enclosed space, emotionally volatile Keith, and no escape. This didn’t use to scare him on such an instinctive level.

“No!” Keith shouts, “Not until you tell me why you didn’t say it was me!” Keith stalking towards him, getting in his face. Too close. Shiro’s breath catches.

“Start the elevator,” Shiro voice shakes, he can’t stop it, “We’ll talk, but not here.” Keith’s eyes go wide. He takes a hurried step back. Turns the lift back on and stays on the other side. Giving Shiro space. Air comes more easily with the distance.

They stop on a little used floor. Keith steps out and Shiro follows him, he said they’d talk. He won’t back out. Down a few hallways, away from where anyone could accidentally stumble upon them. When Keith stops, waiting for Shiro to begin.

“Everything I told you was true.” The words taste like more lies on his tongue. He folds his arms together, tries to keep from hunching in on himself.

“You just decided to leave out the most important detail.” Keith says bitterly.

“You didn’t need to know.” That pain hadn’t needed to be shared.

“Of course I needed to know.” Keith tugs on his hair. His muscles tense, arresting the urge to step towards Shiro, “This whole time I thought it was that you didn’t want to be around anyone, but it was me that was the problem. If I’d known I could have done something about it. Cut my hair, changed my clothes, put on fucking make up, something!” Keith shouts, throwing his hands in the air. Keith turns heel, stomps a few feet away breathing hard.

“It wouldn’t have mattered. I can already tell the difference between you two,” Mostly through clothes and environmental cues, but once he knew they were two separate people, there were also slight physical differences he could spot from radically different lives lived. Those clues just sometimes took a bit to process.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have asked me to restart the elevator.” Keith says, eyes accusing.

Shiro can’t argue that, “I didn’t want to hurt you,” That’s the center of it. If he has to be in pain, the least he can do is make sure the others don’t have to be. Keith doesn’t have to be.

“Hurting you because I don’t know better, hurts me,” Keith says. He takes a few soft steps towards him, lifting his hand to caress Shiro’s cheek. His fingers are warm, gentle. It feels nice, “We’re together. I care about you, and I want to face these things with you. I don’t need you to be protect me from the truth.”

Shiro’s vision is growing misty at the edges, “You shouldn’t have to.”

“I want to,” Keith says. He’s looking up into Shiro’s eyes now, and he’s so earnest. So certain that he wants to shoulder every ounce of pain Shiro carries. He doesn’t deserve him. Doesn’t deserve to be cared for so much, but he’s greedy and hurts so deep into his soul. He’s not a strong enough man to turn him away.

“Okay,” Shiro whispers.

-

The movie is brainless, something stupid and easy to distract him from thoughts of his captor. Keith’s warm against his side. He knows, not everything, but he knows what Shiro did to surive and he’s still here. Still wants to sit with him, offer his comfort.

Footsteps, Allura walks in. She looks between them, seeing but not comprehending.

“Our prisoner has woken up.” She says, almost apologetically, “He won’t say if there are anymore coming after him, or how his form of dimensional travel works. He refuses to speak to anyone except you Shiro.” Her eyes are sad.

He should have known this would happen. His captor has never been subtle in his obsession. He would never settle for speaking to the Princess. This demand was to be expected.

He’s had his space now. Some time to breathe. If he stays in the doorway, and doesn’t enter the cell proper. He can speak with him. Just long enough to make sure there will be no back up.

“Okay, I’ll handle him,” Shiro says. Allura nods, leaves now that her message is delivered.

“I’m coming with you,” Keith says, from his side.

Shiro starts to tell him no. He doesn’t need to hear whatever his captor has to say, but Keith already knows what happened. Maybe, maybe, having him there will somehow make this better, “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay next chapter will be up on Saturday, so no update tomorrow. (Life has intervened and said chap 16 is going to take me longer to write) Have fun :D


	15. Confrontation

“Thank you, Pidge,” Shiro disconnects the call. The cell’s cameras are off now. She hadn’t wanted to, not at first. She knew something was up, even without him telling her. She was clever like that, and worried for him. Worried about him being alone with his captor with no way to monitor that he was okay, but Keith promised her he’d stay with Shiro. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him. That had calmed her. Now no one will be able to see what happens between him and the Prince. 

The cell door belongs in a dungeon, the metal stretches up above his reach and runs deeper than a hands width. The Alteans had built it to hold the fiercest aliens in the Universe. No amount of strength, no acid, would pierce it. This was meant to hold monsters, and for the first time in centuries it did.

Shiro’s hand hovers over the entry panel. One push and he will be facing his captor in the dim light of a cell once more. Just one push. Keith’s hand wraps around his own, squeezing lightly, “You don’t have to, you know. He’ll probably speak to me, if I go alone,” Keith says quietly. If only he could take Keith up on his offer.

“If he would speak to anyone else, he would have spoken to one of the last two Alteans alive,” So much valuable information could be gleaned for use back in the Prince’s own universe from a casual conversation with Allura. Zarkon would surely reward him handsomely, but that isn’t what his captor came for, “I can do this. I’ll be okay.” He survived being held with no hope of rescue. He can survive one more talk where he has all the power. Keith lets go of his hand and steps back.

Shiro takes one last steeling breath and presses the button. The door pulls up into the ceiling without a single grinding noise to betray its weight. The cell looks nothing like the one he was held in. Unlike the Prince, the designer believed in basic human standards for imprisonment. His captor isn’t forced to sit shivering in a hard chair. He has a cot, a pillow to lay down on, and a blanket to keep away the cold. This place is not his cell.

The Prince doesn’t care about his relative luxury. He’s furious. Pacing, snarling, worrying at the cuff that bind his hands together. For one second that rage is glaring directly at Shiro, then whiplash quick it dissipates. The Prince smiles at him, genuinely smiles, “Takashi, you came!” He says, happy, like Shiro is here as a personal gift.

Between one sharp inhale and the next, Keith has squeezed past him into the cell, taking up a position between him and the Prince, “Sit down.” Keith orders, anger is already leaking into his voice.

The Prince’s smile disappears, his nose wrinkles in distaste as he looks Keith up and down. He can’t see Keith’s face, but his captor’s eyes are narrowing into a glare, “I don’t take orders from you,” The Prince’s words drip with disdain. He dismisses Keith with a sniff, then looks back to Shiro still hovering by the door. The warmth doesn’t come back, his new smile is off, a mask, “Why don’t you come in, let me see you. Did they treat the wound on your shoulder?” Keith had, before they began the movie, “That guard was incompetent. If he’d lived, he’d have been punished. He should have never fired upon you.”

Keith has never done well with being ignored. The muscles in his shoulders bunch, preparing to lunge, attack their prisoner, “Keith, leave him,” Shiro says, reigning him in. Keith turns to look at him, frustration clear in the grit of his teeth. Shiro motions for him to come back. Keith’s stiff, but he obeys. Standing by the door, closer to the Prince, in range to defend Shiro, but further away than he was.

Shiro looks back to the Prince. He’s watching their interaction. Examining Shiro’s behavior, picking him apart at the seams, “I’m fine where I am,” Shiro says, shoving down the jittery scared parts of himself. The Prince can’t do anything to him here, he’s the one in control, “You said you would answer some questions if I came down here. I have a few for you.”

“Let me take a look at you first.” The Prince says, stepping closer. Keith stands up straighter, starts to edge between them again. The Prince bares his teeth at Keith, warning him off, before looking back to Shiro with softer eyes, “You had me so worried, when you disappeared like that. I thought something bad had happened to you,” The Prince’s voice is colored with the left overs of true fear, the clinging heart clenching kind that never quite goes away even when things are alright again. How could the Prince possibly think that anywhere else could be worse for him than that cell?

“I was rescued-” “Stolen,” The Prince interjects. “Rescued,” Shiro says again, firmer, “I’m fine. Now will you answer questions for me, or will I have to leave.” He won’t stay down here, playing this back and forth, if there is nothing to gain. He’s not that masochistic.

The Prince pouts, but sits down on his cot with a huff, “Ask your questions, pet.”

He’s heard the demeaning nickname so many time, it no longer registers, but Keith is a powder keg looking for a reason to light, “He’s not your pet,” Keith growls, fingers clenching into fists.

“Well he’s certainly not yours,” The Prince sneers, examining an imaginary imperfection in his nail, “He was much better behaved when I took care of him.”

Keith’s across the room in a blink, an anger powered magnet snapping towards the Prince, “You call what you did taking care of him!” Keith shouts.

“Keith,” Shiro tries to call him back again, but both dimensional versions are beyond hearing him.

“I gave him everything he needed.” His captor says, standing up to meet Keith, baring his teeth once more, “All the love and care and discipline he needed to be his best.” Toe to toe. Anger met by anger. They are like two dogs snarling and snapping, ready to tear each other apart. He needs to stop this. Things have already gotten out of hand. If he can just get between them, neither should be willing to tear through him to get at the other.

Shiro moves forward, he has to intervene, “You raped him.” Keith hisses. Shiro’s joints lock, legs refusing to take another step. No, no, no they can’t be talking about this. Not like this.

“I didn’t do anything he didn’t enjoy.” His captor hisses back. He hadn’t. He hadn’t wanted to be there. He just didn’t want to go back to the cell. That was different than wanting it. That had to be different.

There is a cry of rage, the thump and scrabble of two bodies crashing to the ground. Shiro forces air into his lungs. He can’t do this. Not right now. One foot in front of the other. Keith’s voice in double echoing in the room. Keith’s fist crash into his doppleganger’s face, he doesn’t care their prisoner is bound and can’t defend himself. 

Shiro grabs his jacket with shaky fingers, hauls him to his feet with all the strength of his prosthetic. Keith fights him, tries to tear his way free so he can go back to beating himself bloody. Shiro pulls him away, forces Keith’s purple to meet his grey, “Stop,” Shiro croaks, voice barely clawing its way out of his throat. He doesn’t sound like himself, but this time, this time Keith listens. Rage draining from his face, replaced with wide eyed worried. He’s finally seeing Shiro.

“Shiro,” Keith whispers. Then Keith is pulling him away, dragging him from the room, the door sliding shut behind them.

Keith’s cupping his face, the slight wetness of blood against his cheek. Who’s is it? Doesn’t really matter, does it. It’s Keith’s blood either way, “Shiro, I want you to sit down for me, okay,” Keith says. Shiro nods, slides to the floor, when Keith guides him to a wall. Keith kneels beside him, putting a little distance between them. He’s fine. He’s not panicking. Not for the third time in two days. He’s better than this. He’s supposed to be better than this.

“We didn’t ask him if he’s has back up,” Shiro says. The question is important. They need to be ready if his allies plan an attack.

“It doesn’t matter,” Keith says, “I don’t think he’d have answered honestly anyways.” But they can’t know that for certain.

“I still need to ask,” Shiro braces a hand to stand up. He needs to go back in there.

“No,” Keith’s hand is on his bicep, stopping him, “Shiro, please don’t. For me, if not for yourself,” Keith’s begging him, eye’s big and round with hurt.

Shiro looks at the door. The question is why he’s here, why he faced his captor again. If he never asks then what was the point? He looks back to Keith. Keith with his big eyes, asking him not to go back. Maybe Keith is right. Shouldn’t he know his alternate’s mind better than most? Maybe the Prince would never tell him anything. Just use any excuse to force his presence.

“Okay, okay, I won’t go back,” Shiro says.

Keith’s shoulder’s sink with relief, “Thank you.” He says.

Keith helps Shiro to his feet. Their hands stay clasped together as they walk in silence. Never making to let go. Keith’s hand in his own is comforting. A physical reminder that Keith is with him, looking after him. He needs that today of all days.

In the elevator, Shiro selects the floor for their room instead of the common room. He doesn’t care about their abandoned movie. The Prince came late in the day, and it was later still when he had demanded Shiro’s presence. All he wants to do now is sleep. Keith stays close to him. Hovering like a guardian spirit while they walk to his door. The door to his room has never felt so imposing. Here is warmth and comfort, in there is cold loneliness. He enters, and Keith will leave to his own room. It’s time, but he’s not quite ready to let go.

“Could you stay?” Shiro asks quietly.

“Tonight?” Keith asks, brows pinched in confusion, “Is that really a good idea with the other me downstairs?” That’s why he wants him there, his captor never cared if Shiro wanted his presence. He couldn’t keep him out of his cell or the room. Being alone had always just been a waiting game for the next time he’d visit.

“No, it’s a terrible idea,” Shiro admits, “I just don’t want to be on my own right now.” He looks up at Keith, lets the vulnerability he’s feeling show through on his face, “I might throw you out in the middle of the night, if it gets to be too much, but can you stay with me until then?” Just long enough for him to sleep, knowing someone is watching over him.

There are soft hands on his shoulders, and when he doesn’t flinch, he’s pulled into a hug, “Of course,” Keith says, voice muffled in his shirt, “For as long as you want me, I’ll stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the rewrite chapters, all new content from here on out. Which means updates will slow down for a bit while I write the final chapters from scratch.
> 
> Interesting fact, the first time I wrote this, to get to this point there were 26,000 words. This time there is 31,000 words, so the rewrite added about 5,000 words to the story (that’s a bit over two of my normal chapters).
> 
> Hope this chapter makes a good spot for you to wait for the next and final part of the story!


	16. Something Important

There is a line of heat against Shiro’s back, chasing away the chill that sneaks under his blankets. An arm rests around his waist and a nose is buried against his neck, another body curled around him, keeping him safe. If only he could stay like this forever, in the comfortable state between dreams and waking. Where his whole body is limp with relaxation and everything feels good, but the day cycle is starting in the castle. The lights are growing gradually brighter, a gentle reminder that he needs to get up.

Shiro gingerly removes his partner’s arm. Sitting up and rubbing the sleep dust from his eyes. Keith’s slow steady breathing doesn’t change. Peaceful despite all of Shiro’s restless turning through out the night. He hadn’t needed to toss Keith out after all. Even with his stress, Keith’s presence had remained comforting, the press of him soothing to some part of his soul that craved human contact even after everything. Asking him to stay had been the right idea. He’d needed this.

Carefully Shiro crawls over his partner and gets out of bed. He’ll let Keith sleep a little while longer, before waking him for breakfast. Shiro pads quietly to the shower.

.

The mood in the Kitchen is dour. He’d wanted to wait to inform everyone on the bridge, but Pidge wanted to know how the interrogation went and once it was brought up everyone had chimed in with questions. There really hadn’t been a reason to keep this from them, so now they all sat in silence, appetites mostly ruined. There was no way to know when or how many would come to rescue the Prince, but the other universe’s Galra would not let them keep him in their holding cell for long. After their meal, they’d need to begin preparing for another attack.

Shiro sets his spoon down, bowl clean of the green goo that was their go to for easy meals. He doesn’t skip meals, not if he can help it, “I’m going to update Allura on our situation. Meet us, when you’re done and we’ll go over our plans.” A couple nods, good enough. Shiro drops his bowl in the sink and heads for the door, only to nearly be run over by Coran.

There is a split second of pity in the older Altean’s eyes before he’s speaking, “The prisoner is gone.”

.

The Prince wasn’t loose on the ship. Sometime after their meeting, Pidge had turned the cameras back on, and they showed clearly where he’d gone. The Prince had been washing dried blood from his face, when suddenly he froze, staring at his hands. Seconds later he’d been consumed by a flash of crackling energy. It didn’t take Slav to realize he’d been pulled back to his original universe.

He’d be back. Of that there was little doubt, his retreat was only temporary. His captor didn’t go through this much effort, just to give up on his prize. As long as the Prince was out there, Shiro would never be safe again.

That’s why he had to make sure he couldn’t do anything else ever again.

.

Shiro picks up the device the Prince brought with him to the Castle. Pidge, Slav, and Hunk had been working night and day to determine that it was a recall device and piggy backing their own controls over it. Good for one trip there and back.

“No one will think any less of you if you let someone else go,” Keith says, quiet enough to be for Shiro’s ears only. He’s hovering close, eye’s pleading. He’d voiced the loudest objections to this plan, and would certainly like nothing more than for Shiro to allow him to go in his place.

“It has to be me,” Shiro says. They have to confirm that the Prince is on the other side, and Shiro is the only one that they know won’t be immediately shot if he’s caught, “I’ll be back before you even have a chance to miss me.” Shiro squeezes Keith’s shoulder and gives him a smile that wavers a bit too much. He turns away before Keith’s watery eyes can make him change his mind.

Shiro secures his helmet, just in case he gets dropped into hard vacuum, and walks to the center of the room. One last trip, one last trip and all this is finally over. After this, he’ll never see his captor again. Shiro signals Slav, and the now familiar tingling begins in his extremities. This is the last time…

-

Abruptly the tingling ceases, Shiro’s senses come rushing back to him in a tidal wave. Dark purple, recycled air, sharp angles, silence. He made it. He’s on board one of the Galra ships. The room isn’t familiar, filled with machines he’s never seen before and covered in oddly glowing runes. There is a clang behind him. Shiro whirls. A single Galra, dressed in white, stands behind him, eyes wide in shock, clipboard at his feet.

Shiro doesn’t give him a chance to recover. A punch to the gut, a sweep of his feet, then the glowing point of his finger tips against a purple neck. The scent of burning hair wafts into the air, “Whose ship is this?” Shiro growls. He could wander around, hoping to run into proof of the Prince’s presence by luck, but direct questioning is a much surer method.

“Champ-” Shiro punches the Galra before he can finish that word. He’s the one in control now.

“Whose ship is this?” Shiro repeats, pressing his finger tips closer to the throat. 

“Prince Keith! This is Prince Keith’s ship!” The Galra shouts as his flesh begins to cook. Progress.

Shiro turns his hand off, dragging the Galra to his feet, “You are going to take me to him. If you try to call for help, you know what I can do.” This man isn’t an innocent. Not like all those he fought in the arena. He could have worked as a mall cop or a simple shop keep, but he chose to aid a monster. He can end him if he tries to fight. He will end him.

“Y-yes sir,” Shiro doesn’t let himself recognize the fear in those yellow eyes.

They make it two hallways before they are spotted. Sentry drones two of them. Easy enough to dispatch, sparking circuitry showing through the hole he rips in their chaises, but that means he has to step away from his hostage. He turn back to see the tale end of the Galra’s white coat disappearing around the corner.

Rats, he overestimated his own reputation, or maybe underestimated it. Either way he gives chase. He doesn’t stand a chance. Like most of his species, this Galra has a good foot on him and is all legs. It’s like trying to run down a cheetah. He’s lost him in the winding corridors in seconds.

There is only one chance. Shiro slides to a stop and listens. He hearbeat pounds loudly in his ears, but he strains his ears for the slightest noise anyways. Nothing, nothing, something. Far off to his right, something high pitched and panicked. Found him.

Four turns and words take shape, “I’m not on anything!” White coat in front of some sort of communication station. If the sentries weren’t bad enough, now security is certain to swarm him. Time for a new plan, “Do you really think I wouldn’t recog-” The Galra’s sentence cuts off, a single gurgle makes it out of his throat, before he collapses to the floor dead, spine severed at the back of the neck. Shiro deactivates his arm. The death was quick, merciful. He wouldn’t have survived the day anyways. He doesn’t need to feel guilty.

Shiro takes a steadying breath and steps in front of the camera, “Tell the Prince I’m back, and I will only surrender to him.” The Galra on the other side of the screen is still gaping when Shiro destroys the monitor.

The Prince will get his message, and he will come. He’s certain for reasons he can’t afford to examine right now. He just needs to wait, and very carefully think of nothing but the plan.

The sentries arrive first, tens of them, at the end of each hall. Blocking him in, making sure he doesn’t run, as if there is anywhere on this ship to run to. None of them raise their guns, none of them approach, they’re waiting too.

Thump, thump, thump, marching boots growing closer. Precise, but not as precise as the perfection of robotics. The sentries on one end part, lining themselves against the wall. Shiro’s breath catches in his throat, there is a group, but he only sees one. The Prince.

He’s wearing the same armor he invaded the Castle’s peace in. The same bright smile, that hides the pain he’s planning to inflict. Shiro fingers are numb on the device, but he finds the right button. The Prince’s location confirmed. Just a little longer and it’s all over.

“Takashi! You came back,” The Prince voice is pure delight. None of the surprise that should be there from Shiro willingly coming back to this hell. His guards stop, but he continues to stride forward. Shiro steps back. His captor frowns, head tilting as he stops, “Takashi?”

Little pricks along Shiro’s fingers, like he’s laid them somewhere awkward and they’ve fallen asleep. Almost done, just a little bit longer, “I need to tell you something.” Shiro’s heartbeat’s thundering, his breathing right on the edge of too fast. He must look like a cornered beast. His forearms begin to prickle as well.

The Prince must think so too, he holds out his hands as if trying to calm him, as if Shiro could trust him, “What is it? What do you need to tell me?” The Prince takes a step forward again and Shiro matches him backwards. He can’t feel the floor under his feet anymore.

“It’s important,” Shiro says as the hum of static begins in his ears. His vision starts to fade.

His captor’s frown is shifting from perplexed to annoyed, his shoulders tensing in irritation. He’s the only thing Shiro can still see, “Then tell me, already.” The Prince snaps, over the white noise in Shiro’s ears.

Everything tingles now, he can barely feel his lips past the sensation, but this is the most genuine smile he’s ever given his captor. There is only one last thing he has to do, “Keith,” Shiro says, his own voice almost inaudible, “I’m leaving you.” Everything goes white.

Takashi Shirogane disappears in a flash of light, replaced with a borrowed warhead on a ten second timer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap folks!
> 
> Thank you all for being so patient while I finished this story. It would have never ended up this long or good without your encouragement and interest.


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